


WANTED: STEP-DAD.

by Coinkydinks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (courtesy of peter), Blind Date, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, F/F, Grindr, M/M, Matchmaking, Multi, Online Dating, Strangers to Lovers, Unrequited Love, adopted family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:33:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coinkydinks/pseuds/Coinkydinks
Summary: Peter is about to leave for university. In his absence, he's worried that his dad Tony Stark will fall back into old habits. This can only mean one thing: Peter needs to find a step-dad. And where else will he find other available, local gays then Grinder?"About Tony:hi i'm tony's son and i'm looking for a step-dad. all applications are welcome."





	1. Applications Are Open!

_I can’t believe I’m doing this_ , Peter thought as he raised his phone above his head. In his other hand, he held up a sign, that read: **WANTED: STEP-DAD**. And now, for the finishing touch. He scrolled through his photo album. They have to see what they’re getting into, he thought as he chose a picture of Tony with oven mitts on fire. Peter smiled at the memory. It was the first night Tony tried to make a ‘family meal’ for them both after he had legally adopted Peter. He couldn’t have asked for a better welcome. Now, it was Peter’s turn to do something for him. Soon, Peter would be moving away to university, leaving behind his dad in New York. The idea of leaving him in the tower alone, without someone there to remind him to take a break from his work made Peter’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

 

Peter came into Tony’s life at the young, tender age of eight. It was meant to be a temporary pit-stop, before being another face among the many in a foster home. But something happened - where there was an emptiness, that had grown, and grown, and threatened to swallow him whole, now there was hope. Now there was Tony. Now there was a future. A future where Tony had someone to come home to. He had Peter for that - but, with September closing in, he had started to think: who would take his place?

 

And, like most of Peter’s life decisions, it led him to Grindr.

 

 **About Tony:**  


Hi i’m Tony’s son and i’m looking for a step-dad. All applications are welcome.

 

Peter started looking for possible candidates. There was Steve Rogers, 40, an ex-military soldier who’s pursuing his life long dream of becoming an artist. There was a photo of him in a running group, his arms around a younger black man, and a dishevelled looking man with a messy bun. He was missing an arm. A brown labrador stood, looking a little wind-swept next to him. Peter swiped right.

  
Stephen Strange, 36, a martial arts teacher who, from the look of his tattoo was into the art of magic. There was a red, Chinese dragon that coiled around his back, its head rested in the crook of his neck. He swiped right.

  
James Rhodes, 37, an officer for the United States Air Force. He stood, leaning against an aeroplane in his profile picture. It wasn’t that what caught Peter’s attention, however - Aunt May would’ve said he had a kind face. One that you could trust. Tony needed someone to trust. He swiped right.

  
In a matter of minutes, all three of his candidates had matched with him. Peter didn’t have time to think of a pick-up line a before a message came through:

  
  
Icecap: Aren’t you a little young to be on here?

 

It was from Steve. He was already acting like a dad!

 

Peter wrote out a message.  
  
  
Spiderson: I’m nineteen.

  
Icecap: You don't look nineteen. 

  
Ouch.  
  
  
Spidersona: You don't look forty.   
  
Icecap: Thank you :-) 

 

Another message came through. It was from Stephen.

 

DrStrange: I’ll make a deal with you.

  
Spiderson: I’m listening…  


DrStrange: I’ll take you to Disneyland if I can date your dad.  


Spiderson: !!!

  
Spiderson: You’re the best dad EVER.

  
Spiderson: Wait. Are you actually a doctor?

  
DrStrange: Er, no.

  
Spiderson: FRAUD.

  
  
Peter went back to swiping.

  
Bucky Barnes, 41 -  wait a minute. Peter took a closer look at his profile picture. Wasn’t this the same man in Steve’s? A jawline that could cut you? Check. Deep, brown, troubled eyes? Check. ONE ARM? Check. Next to him stood the black labrador from before, this time they were in a harness that said: _Please don’t pet me, I’m working!_ Peter swiped right.

Loki Laufeyson, Age Irrelevant - what now? How was it “irrelevant.” He looked at his profile picture. Peter immediately saw why. He was a walking God. He was so attractive it was almost intimidating. Without thinking, Peter swiped right.

  
They matched.

  
Spiderson: I’m not worthy.

  
Lowkeyabitch: True.

  
There was no coming back from that, or so he thought.

  
Lowkeyabitch: Your dad is a Disaster Gay.

  
Spiderson: A Disaster Gay for a Disaster Child.

  
Lowkey: …  
  
Lowkey: I like you. 

Lowkey: You can stay. 

  
Spiderson: Blessed.

  


Icecap: You seem like a good kid.

  
Spiderson: You'd be wrong.  
  
Spiderson: Once... I stayed passed by bedtime for five whole minutes.  
  
  
Icecap: FIVE WHOLE MINUTES?

Icecap: What were you doing that couldn't wait until the next morning?

 

Spiderson: Beating my dad's high score on candy crush.   
  
Icecap: Is that another dating app?  
  
Spidersona: You've never heard of candy crush??  
  
Icecap: Honestly it's a miracle I managed to create an account on here.   
  
Spidersona: Steve, you're showing your age.  
  
Icecap: :O  
  
Spidersona: Are you... are you trying to use emojis to seem like you're younger than actually are?  
  
Icecap: Depends. Is it working?  
  
Spidersona: No.  
  
Icecap: :-(  
  
  
If Tony didn't like him, then he would have to see what Steve thought about joint-adoption.   
  
  
Icecap: Why are you doing this?  
  
Spiderson: I haven’t had a homemade meal in eight years. I need a dad who knows how to cook… preferable without almost burning the house down.  
  
Icecap: Say no more.

[Image attached]

   
_Oh God. Please don’t be a dick pic, please don’t be a dick pic, please don’t be-_

It was lasagne.  
  


Spiderson: dADDY!

 

 


	2. Newton's second law.

  


It had been a few days since Peter had made a Grindr for his dad. Steve had stayed in touch, and even sent him a recipe of his homemade lasagne. So did Stephen. Doctorate or not Peter wasn’t about to decline an invite to Disneyland. He wasn’t an idiot. He wanted to go to Treasure Island, and Stephen was his one-way ticket to make that fantasy a reality. Oh - and of course Tony could do with a break. At least that’s what he told himself.

 

Spiderson: On a scale on 1-10 how much do you like rollercoasters?

  
DrStrange: Is this about Disneyland again?

 

Spiderson: No. This is about my dad.

 

DrStrange: About a nine. Why?

 

Spiderson: My dad’s life is a rollercoaster ride with no end.

 

DrStrange: I better get strapped in then ;)

 

Spiderson: SIR  
  
  
  
DrStrange: Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to for a second there.

 

Peter looked at his physics revision in front of him. He looked at the time, It was 15:30 in the afternoon. He hadn’t eaten yet. He leaned back into his chair, stretching his arms above his head. He knew if he didn’t eat now, he wouldn’t eat at all. He could say the same for Tony. Like father like son.

 

“Friday? Should I even bother asking if dad has eaten yet?”

 

“It would be a waste of both of our time.”

 

“In that case then tell dad I’m making him dinner…” he looked down at his phone, an idea starting to form in his mind. “I’m thinking lasagne.”

 

* * *

 

 

Spiderson: EMERGENCY!!! THE OVEN IS ON FIRE. I REPEAT: THE OVEN IS ON FIRE.  
  
Icecap: YOU KNOW I’M NOT A FIREFIGHTER, RIGHT?

 

Spiderson: BUT YOU WERE IN THE MILITARY

 

Icecap: THEY’RE NOT THE SAME THING

 

Icecap: IS THIS A TEST?

 

Icecap: ???

 

Icecap: USE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER

 

Spiderson: oh right

 

Icecap: ARE YOU OKAY?

 

Spiderson: Yes stop screaming we have a bigger problem

 

Icecap: I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TURN CAPS LOCK OFF. WHAT PROBLEM?

 

Spiderson: The lasagne is ruined!

 

Icecap: YOU WERE TRYING TO MAKE MY HOMEMADE LASAGNE?

 

Spiderson: emphasis on trying.

 

Icecap: THAT’S SO SWEET.

Icecap: BUT MAYBE LEAVE THE COOKING TO ME NEXT TIME, OKAY?

 

Spiderson: Okay.

 

Icecap: IT’S A DATE :-)

 

He thought the fire alarm had stopped. Or maybe it was the metaphorical ones in his head ringing out, warning him to not stop now before it was too late. Did Steve ask him on a date? - well, technically he was asking Tony. But Peter came with Tony. They were a package deal. Buy one gay disaster, get another one for free!

 

“Peter?” Tony looked at the fire extinguisher in his hand. “I take it dinner didn’t go quite to plan?”

 

“Lasagne is a lot harder then it looks.”

 

“How about we order Chinese instead?”

 

“We’ve ordered so much Chinese that they’ve saved our number in their contacts.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“... I want a chicken chow mein.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peter sat on Tony’s bed, watching the new star wars movies back to back. Every Friday they would have a family movie night. It was a tradition. Tony hadn’t missed a night yet. It started on Peter’s first night at the tower. He couldn’t sleep. Plagued by nightmares, Peter had wandered the halls. They felt endless. Tony had found him outside of his bedroom door, his blanket over him, his fist clenched beside him. He didn’t want to knock and disturb Tony. Little did he know, Tony was waiting for him on the other side of the door. He had seen his shadow underneath the door when he saw it swink to the floor Tony ran to the door. Peter fell backwards, and into Tony’s arms. “My door is always open to you.” Tony’s room became an extension of his own, during his early years at the tower. Until Peter became settled into his own. But movie night would always be held there. It was where they had their first movie night. Tony wanted Peter to have a happy ending, even in his dreams. They would watch Disney movies in the early hours of the morning until one of them fell asleep. It became a competition to see who would last the longest. In the end, they both fell asleep next to each other.

 

* * *

 

The following morning Peter woke up to the sound of buzzing close to his ear.  It was a notification.  
  
Loki Laufeyson messaged you!

 

Lowkeyabitch: So, when are you going to tell your dad that you’ve created a Grinder account for him?

 

Spiderson: How did you know he doesn’t know??

 

Lowkeyabitch: You just told me.

 

Spiderson: shit.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Swear.

 

Spiderson: sorry.

 

Lowkeyabitch: So?

 

Spiderson: I’m working on it.

 

Lowkeyabitch: And by that you mean you’ll avoid telling him until you’re back into a corner, with literally no other option but to.

 

Spiderson: You get me.  
  
Lowkeyabitch: Don’t worry. Your little secret is safe with me.

 

Spiderson: Why do I feel like there’s a “for now” missing from that sentence?

 

Lowkeyabitch: ;)  
Lowkeyabitch: You get me.

 

Peter moaned. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Tony who somehow managed to fall asleep sat up. Peter wanted to fall back asleep, but his mind went back to his physics exam. He had a week left to revise. He tried to tell himself to move - to do something, other than absently swipe on Grinder. The faces blurred together, and soon he stopped taking notice altogether. Until he saw a familiar face. The face he saw on the wall of his science class every day. Dr. Bruce Banner.

 

Dr. Bruce Banner, 49, “a beast in the sheets a scientist in the sheets.” His profile picture was of him holding a PHD in physics, then another in radiophysics, biochemistry, nuclear physics, and a medical degree. Peter gaped. If anyone could help him with his physics revision… it was him. He swiped right.

 

An immediate match.

 

The Gods were truly smiling down on him today.

 

Spiderson: YOU’RE HIM!!!

 

TheBeast: Yes, as my name suggest i’m

 

Spiderson: DR. BRUCE BANNER

Spiderson: IT’S A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU SIR

 

TheBeast: What?

 

Spiderson: WE HAVE YOUR PICTURE IN MY SCIENCE CLASS

 

TheBeast: You what

 

Spiderson: CAN YOU HELP ME REVISE FOR MY PHYSICS EXAM??

Spiderson: PLEASE  
Spiderson: When I close my eyes all I see is the formula to Newton's second law.

 

TheBeast: That’s.  
TheBeast: That’s terrible.  
TheBeast: Sorry, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding… My friend made this account, and well, to be frank with you, I have no idea what I’m doing, or what this is, or

TheBeast: Oh, excuse me for a minute someone sent me a picture

 

Spiderson: don’t

 

TheBeast: Nevermind, I know what this is

 

Spiderson: I tried to warn you

 

TheBeast: You did.

 

TheBeast: It is not, as I originally from your question earlier an app for revision.

 

Spiderson: Unless your revising biology or chemistry, no.

Spiderson: Let’s change that :)

 

TheBeast: It’d be my pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky will make an appearance in the next chapter. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about him... I have big plans in store for him. The same can be said for Rhodey.


	3. School's out!

 

“Today’s the big day, eh?” Tony sat across from him at the living room table. Peter nodded, his mouth full of cereal. “Honestly, it’s like I don’t feed you,” he tried to chastise but stopped

when a line of milk ran down Peter’s chin. “You have seven scholarships, and you still miss your mouth every time you eat…” he shook his head, his smile faltered, and for a brief moment, Tony’s eyes shifted to the side and became glazed with a distant look. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “What are you going to do with me, kid?”

He laughed, it was a short and breathless, like he couldn’t believe in his own lie: That Peter couldn’t live without him when really it was Peter he couldn’t live without.

Peter closed his hand around his. He said nothing. There was nothing to say. He wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t be alone. Guilt chewed at Peter’s insides, all this time Peter had been talking to strangers when Tony needed him. He couldn’t even say he was talking to then for Tony. It had started like that, but slowly, over time Peter became selfish. He had talked to Steve because the thought of a homemade meal made him think of Aunt May’s cooking. He had talked to Stephen because he had offered to take him away. He had talked to Dr. Banner for revision tips. If he was honest, Peter wanted someone other then Tony to tell him that any university would be lucky to have him. Tony had always said he was smart - no, the word he used was genius - but Tony was his dad. That’s what dad’s said. Dr. Bruce was a friend. Or, he would like to believe that he was. They had been talking for a week now, and Bruce made no mention of Tony, only the odd comment on his work. Peter had forgotten the reason why they were talking in the first place. He wanted to believe that Bruce did too. He didn’t seem interested in Tony has a partner. One day, Bruce asked if he could read some of Peter’s work.

Spiderson: You want to read one of MY papers??

 

TheBeast: If you don’t mind.

 

Spiderson: I DON’T

 

[Peter sent an attachment]

 

TheBeast: Did  
TheBeast: Did you just send me your entire Google Drive

 

Spiderson: I panicked.

 

TheBeast: You know I can see all of your files, right?  
TheBeast: is this erotica

 

Spiderson: GOTTA BLAST.

 

Afterwards, Bruce had asked him why he didn’t accept the offer.

 

Spiderson: Because I have friends here.

 

TheBeast: What did your dad say when you told him?

 

Spiderson: That a scholarship is hard to get, but finding good friends is harder.

TheBeast: He sounds like a smart man.

 

Spiderson: He is :)  
Spiderson: I think the two of you would get along.

 

TheBeast: Are you trying to set me up with your dad?

 

Spiderson: hahaha no.  
Spiderson: Well unless you want to.  
Spiderson: But seriously I think he’d love to have someone else to talk to about ~ science stuff ~ with.  
Spiderson: He says he feels his IQ lower whenever he walks into a room full of idiots.

 

TheBeast: When I want to have an intelligent conversation with someone I’ll watch Bill Nye reruns.

 

Spiderson: BILL BILL BILL BILL

 

TheBeast: BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY

 

God. Now he had that theme song stuck in his head.

 

Peter stared at the exam paper in front of him. This morning’s events played heavily on repeat in his mind, now with a backing track of Bill Nye the science guy theme song. He tried to shake the thoughts loose, and focus on the exam. His hand was aching. Numbers and words no longer had meaning. He had forgotten what the sun felt like. What colour was the sky again?

 

“Pens down.” Peter finished the last sentence he was on, then set his pen down.

 

He leaned back into his chair, rolled his shoulder out and let out a heavy sigh. A weight had been lifted off of his chest. That was it. No more exams. This had been his last one. He looked down at the desk in front of him. To think, he had spent half of his life here. And now it was over. Just like that. He walked out of the classroom and slowed down as he made his way through the halls. Memories of the last few years rose, like old ghosts through the walls and walked beside him; versions of himself fading into the background, as he walked out of the building, knowing that he would never have to go back. Knowing that this was the end of a chapter in his life. One he wasn’t ready to let go of yet. He looked over the crowd full of people and noticed a bob of blonde in the distance. He called out Gwen's name, she turned and waved to him. He ran to her, and as he came closer he saw MJ and Ned were next to her.

 

“Guys!” he threw his arms around them.

 

“Woah, Peter!” MJ laughed, “what’s the matter with you?”

 

“He has the post-summer blues.” said Ned, squeezing one of Peter’s shoulders.

 

Peter didn’t have to say anything. Gwen vocalised his thoughts, “I can’t believe this is it.” she said, shaking her head. “It seems so unreal.”

 

“This calls for a celebration!” MJ smirked, “Free your schedules. Tonight we’re going out.”

 

* * *

 

Spiderson: God  
Spiderson: Can you hear me

 

Lowkeyabitch: no

 

Spiderson: :( I have a problem.

 

Lowkeyabitch: And this concerns me how?

 

Spiderson: I can’t decide on what outfit to wear for tonight.

 

Lowkeyabitch: You came to the right person.  
Lowkeyabitch: What’s the occasion?

 

Spiderson: I’m celebrating!!!  
Spiderson: I’ve finished my final year at highschool. No more exams!

 

Lowkeyabitch: You’ve escaped one snare trap, and landed straight into another.

 

Spiderson: Basically  
Spiderson: So will you help me?

 

Lowkeyabitch: Of course. Show me what I’m working with.

 

Spiderson: [Peter attached images]

 

Lowkeyabitch: Are these all the clothes you own?

 

Spiderson: yes

 

Lowkeyabitch: That’s tragic.  
Lowkeyabitch: Burn them. I’m taking your shopping.

 

Spiderson: wait what no. It’s tonight, I don’t have time!

 

Lowkeyabitch: Child, are you forgetting who you are talking to?

 

Spiderson: God?

 

Lowkeyabitch: Exactly. And can’t God work miracles?

 

Spiderson: Well yeah but I don’t see how

 

Lowkeyabitch: Don’t see.  
Lowkeyabitch: Just believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter: Peter receives a mysterious package, a handsome stranger saves the day and Tony reconnects with an old friend...


	4. Jesus?

It had been two hours since Loki’s last text. The party was in an hour, and Peter still hadn’t an outfit to wear. Maybe he could borrow one of Tony’s. He doubted he saved any. Usually, after an event, he would auction it off to the highest bidder, then donate it to charity. Or, if there was a long line of suits he’d donate them to the homeless shelter to use for job interviews. Peter smiled to himself. He couldn’t have asked for a more selfless dad. Tony was always holding charity balls, and a lot of them he hosted after long, periods of nights with little sleep, worrying about every little detail. Peter looked at his clothes laid out on his bed. A lot of them were a size too small, after his transition Tony had bought Peter a new wardrobe, but neither of then expected the sudden growth spurt in between. Peter started wearing roughly the same resembling outfit to school. He had started arranging his clothes into piles when Friday’s voice disturbed his thoughts.

 

“Peter, there’s a package for you at the desk.” 

 

A package? Peter hadn’t ordered anything. A Grindr notification on his phone alerted him to a message from Loki.

 

Lowkeyabitch: You owe me.

 

Spiderson: You didn’t.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Oh but I did.

 

Peter didn’t want to ask what exactly Loki did. He was already halfway down the hall when he turned a corner and ran straight into Tony’s chest. Tony’s arm steadied him to a forced halt. 

 

“Woah there, kiddo. What has you in such a rush?” He didn’t wait for Peter to answer. “I think I know…” he was holding sealed, packaged box in front of him. “This wouldn’t happen to do with you running in the hallway, hm?” 

 

The box blurred in front of him, as Tony waved it about while talking. He couldn’t make out what he was saying: his attention was on the box. Peter felt like he was being hypnotised to confess everything to Tony, right then and there. 

 

“So, what do you say?”

 

“... Sorry, what?”

 

“About you and me, tonight, celebrating that your finals are over!” 

 

“Oh. I, er. I already have plans. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m going out with my friends.” He pretended not to notice Tony’s shoulder slumping forward, or his little pout. 

 

“Of course... Of course, you are, God I’m so stupid. I’m sorry, I should’ve known. You don’t want to hang out with your old man.” he tried to laugh, to ease the tension between them but it fell short. He looked down at his feet. 

 

“That’s not true! It’s just - it’ll probably be the last time I see them all again, together. Gwen has a summer internship, MJ and Ned both have jobs… and I’m…” It was Peter’s turn to look down at his feet. “I guess I’ve been too focused on my exams to really think about what I want to do next…” 

 

“Hey, no one has a step-by-step plan. And if they say they do their liars, or their plans will change and they’ll be like the rest of us: winging it as we go along. You don’t have to decide now. You have time.” Tony squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

“Thanks, dad.”

 

“Anytime, kiddo. Now, here -” he handed Peter the package. “Take this, go and get ready and go have a good night out. I’ll leave some money on the side for you. Use it for emergencies only.”

 

“Will do.”

 

Tony turned to leave. “Hey, dad?” Tony looked over his shoulder, “raincheck?” he smiled and nodded. 

 

“Raincheck.”

 

Once Peter was safely inside of his bedroom he sat on the end of his bed, with the package laid across his lap. He quickly typed a message to Loki, before opening it.

 

Spiderson: is it a bomb

 

Lowkeyabitch: no  
  
  
Spiderson: is it a dick in a box

 

Lowkeyabitch: just open it.

 

Spiderson: you didn’t say no

 

Lowkeyabitch: No. I’m not tasteless. 

 

Spiderson: Should I be concerned you know where I live

 

Lowkeyabitch: You’re asking me how I knew how you, son of Tony Stark, lived in a tower that has STARK on the front of it?

 

Spiderson: Yes...  
  
  
Lowkeyabitch: lucky guess.

 

Peter was scared of opening it. Not because he didn’t trust Loki - although, he shouldn’t, he was, after all, a stranger to him, and a there small voice inside of his head, that sounded a lot like Aunt May that warned him to be cautious. It was because he didn’t want to carelessly tear open the beautifully wrapped box. It was black, with an emerald bow nestled on top. He took his time, and slowly opened the box to reveal what was inside: several outfits, each secured inside a clear, sealed package sat on top of each other. A letter was attached to the inside of the lid. It read:

 

Dear Peter,

No offence, but not even Goodwill would’ve wanted your clothes. Try these on for size. I think you’ll find them a lot more stylish, and not to mention comfortable. It’s important to not feel like you’re wearing an extra layer of skin when in clothes. I have a feeling you’re the kind who wears the same outfit, and wonders why they never feel confident. Make like a snake and shred some skin. It’s time for a new look.

Yours, Loki. 

  
  


A teardrop landed on letter’s corner. He hadn’t realised he was crying. He brought his hand to cheek, it was wet with tears, rolling down to his chin. His transition had been a secret - of course, there had been rumours. Tony had taken in an eight-year-old girl, and months later adopted a son. Tony had known - he had always known. Peter hasn’t talked to Tony the first week he was with him. He didn’t so much as look at him, until one day he stood in front of him, and said he was a boy, with a tired, confidence of someone who had always known, and was waiting for everyone else to catch up. Tony hadn’t questioned it. He called him Peter, and their relationship grew from there. 

 

He hadn’t realised how uncomfortable his clothes had made him until it was there: written down in words. Loki understood. His vision blurred with tears as he typed out a message to him.

 

Spiderson: Thank you.

 

One didn’t feel like enough.

 

Spiderson: Thank you, thank you, thank you.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Anytime. 

 

Spiderson: I’m feeling v overwhelmed rn. But I have a lot of questions I want to ask you  
Spideson: if that’s ok

 

Lowkeyabitch: Of course. 

 

Spiderson: <3!!!

 

Lowkeyabitch: what’s that

 

Spiderson: it’s a heart! 

 

Lowkeyabitch: oh. 

 

He looked in the mirror, brought his chin up a little, as he inspected himself from head to toe: he was wearing a pair of black converse, under a slim, fitted pair of black jeans and a red buttoned up shirt that had a row of chains at the front, attached to the back of set black spiders, pinned at the corner of the shirt’s collar, a black leather jacket completed the look. Peter turned around slowly in front of the mirror, taking in his reflection. As he turned, his smile grew bigger and bigger, and each turn became faster, more dramatic, landing in different poses. He settled into a stand, head dizzy the low hum of excitement coursing through him. He couldn’t stand still. He flashed himself a toothy smile and took a picture. He sent it to Loki.

 

Lowkeyabitch: <3!!!

 

Just when he was about to respond, a knock came at the door. “Peter?” it was Tony. “Are you decent?” Peter looked at the box, then back at the door.

 

“Just a minute!” he ran to his bed and threw his bed covers over the box. “Come in!”

 

Tony opened the door. His hands were behind his back, as he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “What’s all this?” he asked, looking at Peter’s piles of clothes. 

 

“Oh. I was sorting out a few things. I thought I’d donate some of my old clothes to charity. Yknow, as you do with your suits.” 

 

“God. I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve you, kid. But whatever it was… it was worth it. I’m so lucky to have you. Speaking of…” Tony trailed off for a moment, his hands fidgeting behind him. “I want you to have this.” He extended out his arm, inside the palm of his hand was a black velvet box.

 

“Tony are you proposing”

 

“No, you  -here, just take it.” Tony closed his hands around Peter’s, leaving the box inside his hands. A small golden latch was at the front of it. Peter undid it, lifting the lid off. Inside was a silver Rolex. 

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“My father gave it to me. His father gave it to him, and so on. It’s a family tradition. And one day, when you have a child of your own you can hand it down to them. But for not it’s yours.”

 

Tony turned the Rolex over on its face. Engraved on the back was a list of family names. At the bottom was: Peter Benjamin P. Stark.  He had asked Tony if he could keep the P in as a tribute to his parents. 

 

“I don’t know what to say…” 

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Tony said, fastening the Rolex on his wrist. “Though, try not to lose it.” he winked. His hand rested on Peter’s forearm. The excitement he felt before had stabilized under his touch. 

 

Peter threw his arms around him. “Thanks, dad.” his voice cracked. He buried his head into Tony’s chest to stop himself from crying. Tony’s shoulders shook. Peter couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying or both. He just held on tighter.    
  
  


* * *

  
  
Iron Dad: Stay safe x

 

Peter exited the back of Gwen’’s car. Shortly followed after by Ned. MJ was in the front passenger seat, making the excuse that she had to be in charge of the music, or else they’d be listening to Peter’s “depressing 90s playlist.” He didn’t blame her. Once she was seated next to Gwen however, her duties of car DJ were neglected, choosing to hold Gwen’s hand instead of the whole ride there. “There” being a rundown warehouse, that had been refurbished as a club. A set of security guards stood at the main entrance, ushering a small crowd of people behind a thick red rope at the side of the building. The warehouse’s boarded windows didn’t silence the music from inside, it sounded like clashes of thunder, shaking the building’s walls. One of the security men grunted, beckoning him forward. He offered his hand out, the man stamped the back of it and stepped back to allow him in. He caught sight of the back of his friend’s heads before they were lost in a flash of green from the opening of the doors and a bed of smoke, escaping from underneath. Peter stumbled in. Inside, the place was crowded. It wasn’t the music that was shaking the walls, it was the people: their bodies pressed against the sides of the building. There was nowhere else to go. Peter pushed his way through the crowd, heading straight towards the bar. He leaned on it, and tried to look over to the other side of the bar, failing to see his friends. Everyone was too big. Too loud. Too in-his-way. He counted how many stained circles they were on the bar. 1…. 2…. Breathe, Peter, Breathe, 3….4…. The walls were closing in…. 5….6…. Someone knocked into him. 7…8…9...9...9… Shit. What comes after 9?

 

“Hey, kid. Are you alright?” Peter looked up. The bar lights cast an unmistakable halo over the back of the stranger’s head.

 

“Jesus?” Peter said in a daze.

 

The man laughed, running his hand through his hair, that fell to his shoulder. It framed his tight jawline, and a thin, tight smile. “Not quite,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get you somewhere quiet.” Peter fell into step behind the man. The tide of faceless strangers resurfaced, threatening to bring Peter under. The man noticed Peter’s hesitation. His hand fell onto his shoulder. Peter’s brows creased at the heaviness. “it’s okay. I’ve got you.” squaring his shoulders, the man pushed through the crowd, clearing a path towards the back entrance. They stepped out into an alleyway. The music was cut off by the slam of the heavy back door, and Peter leaned against it and sighed with relief. He closed his eyes, he rested the back of his head against the door. The dull thud of the music knocked on the back of his head. He felt heavy. A weight on his chest pushed him down to the floor. The man said nothing, coming to sit down next to him.

 

“Thanks,” he said, not opening his eyes. 

 

The man grunted. “What’s your name?”

 

“Peter. Peter P. Stark. What’s yours?”

 

The man leaned forward, Peter opened his eyes to see that he had held out his hand. Peter took it. “James. But my friends call me Bucky.” 

 

* * *

 

Tony was fine. No, he was more than fine. He was great. Or he would be if Peter had texted him. It was close to midnight and he hadn’t so much as drunkenly called him, telling him how much he loved him and appreciates him like he normally would when he had a few too many - which was always. The kid couldn’t handle his drink. It was probably for the best. He didn’t want Peter to be like him. He wanted him to be better. Tony sat up in his chair at the sound of his phone, alerting him to a new text.

 

“Finally,” he said to himself. He looked down at his phone. It wasn't the usual picture of Peter and him, stood together holding a framed adoption certificate. It was of Rhodey and him, in their younger days. Their arms hung loosely around the back of each other’s shoulder. They sat in an empty bar. The early morning light shone in the background, glinting off of the dirty, empty glasses that lined the bar. They had talked all night.

 

Any other time Tony would have been happy to hear from his old friend. Peter’s silence made that difficult. He read the text, and immediately regretted not storing any emergency whisker in the tower.

 

Jimmy-boy: Question.  
Jimmy-boy: Why is your kid on Grindr. Looking FOR YOU???  
Jimmy-boy: And why hasn’t he messaged me yet. I’m hurt


	5. A liar knows when a liar is lying.

“So, let me get this straight…” James started, then laughed to himself and mumbled to himself, “hah… never thought I’d try to be straight. You made a Grindr account for your dad… because you’re going to university, and don’t want him to be alone?” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And he has no idea.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Kid….” he looked at him, he looked conflicted between laughing and letting out a loud, exasperated sigh. Peter got that a lot. “you remind me of an old friend of mine. Always thinking with his heart, that one. Getting himself into all kinds of trouble.”

 

“Did you rescue him a lot too?”

 

Bucky looked at him with a slanted smile, “yeah. That’s not to say he couldn’t hold his own… scrawny little thing he was, when I first met him. But that never stopped him from picking a fight with someone three times the size of him,” he shook his head at the memory. “God. If you’re anything like him… well, all I can say is best of luck to the man who breaks your father’s heart.”

 

“What?”

 

“...You didn’t think about that, did you?”

 

Peter fell to a stop. They had been walking down the back of the alleyway, each step leading him further away from the warehouse, the music could still be heard from a distance. They sat on a corner of a pavement, outside of an empty car park. A half empty bottle of wine sat in between them in a brown paper bag. Bucky wordlessly passed it to Peter. Bucky arched the back of his neck, face pointing towards the moon. An angular shadow framed his face, across his cheekbone, giving the appearance of looking sharper, and more defined. Peter’s finger itched for his camera, but something told Peter that Bucky was someone who couldn’t be captured. He was an experience. The thought grounded him, he swallowed another mouthful of the wine ignoring the bitter after taste it left behind. 

 

“No.” he admitted finally, “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That i’d find someone for him, and they’d see what I see; someone who raised me in a home, devoted to the love he never received.” Peter’s throat tightened. “He’s… he’s so good. He’s so good and no one sees that.” The corner of his eyes stung with unshed tears. 

 

Bucky patted him on the back. “You really love him, don’t you?” Peter nodded mutely. “He’s lucky to have you.” There was no holding back his tears after hearing that. 

 

“You mean it?” Peter sniffed.

 

“I do.” Bucky leaned over to him, and carefully took the bottle from him. Bucky waved his hands away when trying to reach for the bottle. “That’s enough, kid.” Peter pouted. 

 

“Fine.” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. It was starting to turn cold. The drink warmed his stomach but did little for the rest of him. Bucky noticed him shaking, and took off his bomber jacket, lined with rough, sheep's wool. It had been well worn. He laid it on Peter’s shoulders. He buried himself in the neck of it, the heavyweight a welcoming replacement from the night’s cold relentless bite. A series of thank yous followed, to which Bucky dismissed with another wave of his hand, a soft chuckle, and a light of a cigarette. Everything about him seemed so easy; from the way, he moved, like he was in the middle of a black and white film, to how he spoke, everything he said he said with a purpose. Peter soon realised he was not one for small talk. Idle chit chat, yes - but if it wasn’t leading to somewhere, other than a dead end he’d divert the conversation, or let it fall to a comfortable silence. Peter liked that about him: He listened, when others would try to fill in the silence with unnecessary noise. It reminded Peter of static, in between radio channels when he tried to find a clear signal. Bucky was that: a sign of life beyond the static. 

 

“What if I make the wrong choice?”

 

“At the end of the day, kid, it’s not your choice to make. He’s the one who’ll decide who he spends the rest of his life with, not you. If he wants that, that is.” 

 

“He wants a family.” 

 

“A family can be a father and his son” Bucky reminded, “maybe that’s all he needs.” 

 

“But it’s less then he deserves!” 

 

Bucky frowned, “you think he wants more?”

 

“I know he wants more.”

 

“How?”

 

“He said.”

 

At this, Bucky’s frown deepened. “He told you that you’re not enough?”

 

“No, not exactly... I found a letter. A box was full of them from. They were unsent love letters.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Yeah. His last one he wrote a week before he adopted me, saying he couldn’t afford for me to lose someone else, and because their relationship had only just started, he couldn’t trust them to see it through and that it wasn’t fair on him anyway to expect them to look after two kids -”

 

Bucky cut him off, “Two?”

 

“Him and me.” 

 

He laughed at that. “Well, it seems to me he already made his choice.” Bucky looked over to him, smiling, “he chose you, kid. And who can blame him?” Peter’s heart squeezed at the thought. 

 

“But now that I’m older, maybe he can find love again…” 

 

“Maybe… do you know who the person is?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Who he wrote the letters to.”

 

“Oh. No, there wasn’t a name. There were more, a few with an address on then but Tony called for me. I didn’t have time to write it down.”

 

“What were you looking for anyway?”

 

“I lost my Nintendo.”

 

he nodded solemnly, “a lost Nintendo is a lost childhood.” He patted Peter’s legs, “C’mon. Let’s go. You should text your friends saying that you’re okay.”

 

Peter nodded, patting down his pockets to find his phone. They were empty. “Shit! I think I left it inside.” 

 

Bucky shook his head, “Well. It’ll be gone now.”

 

“My daddies!” he cried, earning him a full body laugh from Bucky.

 

“C’mon, I’m taking you home,” he said, rising to his feet. He extended his hand out to him, which Peter gratefully took. He swayed on his feet, smiling sheepishly at Bucky as he stumbled out of the parking lot with him. Bucky steadied him, holding onto his arm and leading him to the front of the warehouse, down the road where a motorbike was parked up against the curb. Bucky helped Peter onto the back, before climbing onto the front. “Hold on,” was the only warning he gave, revving the motorbike to life and speeding off into the night

  
  
  
  


Peter swallowed. The elevator doors closed behind him. Friday hadn't announced his arrival yet. In fact, he said nothing. Not so much as a sarcastic remark. That should've been his first warning, his second waited for him when the doors opened. The living room lights were still on. They turned on automatically when someone was in the room, and that someone was waiting for him. Peter heard him before he saw him. He cursed under his breath, his foot halfway out of the front balcony. He looked tired, half-dressed in sweatpants, whilst the top half of him wore his Iron Man suit. He looked up, hearing the sound of elevator doors opening and close. His shoulders sagged in relief.

 

"Peter," he stepped from the balcony. "You're late." 

 

"I know, I'm sorry, Tony. My night didn't exactly go to plan-"

 

"I texted you."

 

"My phone-"

 

"I called you."

 

"I'm sorry, it wasn't-"

 

"And nothing. Your friends texted me, saying that you weren't with them. What was I suppose to think? You could've been anywhere, with anyone! Doing God knows what." He threw his arms up in the air, "you could've been hurt, or drugged, or -" he choked, "or worse." 

 

"Dad..."

 

"Who's jacket is that?"

 

Peter's hand touched Bucky's bomber jacket, still resting on his shoulders. He rubbed the neck, lined with sheep's wool protectively. "It's mine." he tried. Tony didn't look convinced. 

 

"It's yours? Did that come with the box, with the rest of your brand new expensive clothes?" 

 

"Yes." He gritted his teeth. He hated lying to him, but what else was he to say? 'no, actually a stranger online bought me those, because I told them I wasn't comfortable in my own skin and they could relate.' 

 

Tony shook his head, "when did you become such a natural liar?”

 

“I learnt from the best.” Peter quipped.

 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means… It means I know about the letters.”

 

Tony’s eyes widened. “What letters?”

 

“You know what letters.”

 

“Those are private.”

 

“It involves me! Just admit it, Tony. I’m the reason you didn’t have a chance at love. I’m the reason you couldn’t have the family you always wanted, with the person you love.” Peter’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s my fault!” he cried, followed by silence. The only sound was Tony’s breath growing faster, deeper and the odd sniff from Peter.

 

“Go to your room.” He said finally, his voice low and strained.

 

“But-”

 

“ _Go_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who are the letters addressed to? Will Tony reveal to Peter that he knows about the Grindr account? Or will he let his trust his son to decide for him? Was there truth in what Bucky said?
> 
> More to come! 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts so far below. Thank you.
> 
> P.s. Please don't worry bc I've introduced Bucky early on. He, just like everyone else will have his chance... ;)


	6. Good father

Peter was avoiding him. A part of Tony wanted to confront him, whilst the other part was relieved to have more time to think about what he wants to say. He wasn’t mad at Peter for the Grindr account or wanting him to have someone - besides himself - in his life to share with. He was mad at himself for not seeing this sooner and putting a stop to it before it was too late. For letting time pass by, with Peter believing that he was the reason Tony was single. It wasn’t. Well - not entirely, anyway. He was single because wanted to be single. He didn’t need someone to share his life with, because he already had that someone… a long, long time ago. And now he has Peter. He has a family. He has more than he could ever ask for.

 

He looked down at the box, filled with love letters, unsealed. A few were addressed, not by name, but a house. He didn’t have to read them to know what they said. There was a time before Peter when he had read them over and over, it became a part of his nightly routine until he fell asleep, letters sprawled around him in bed. The following morning, Tony would collect them, and file them away back into the box. Now the box had collected dust. He had stopped reading them on the first night of Peter’s stay. He made a vow to himself: Peter came first no matter what. The box was hidden away in the back of his wardrobe, behind a set of vinyls and old magazines he used to listen to as a teenager. The rest was history.

 

Tony looked at the last text message Rhodey sent him. 

 

Jimmy-boy: Question.

Jimmy-boy: Why is your kid on Grindr. Looking FOR YOU???

Jimmy-boy: And why hasn’t he messaged me yet. I’m hurt

 

His thumbs hesitated over the keyboard. He didn’t know how to respond to that. What was there to say? ‘My son wants another dad lol’. ‘Oh hey, long time no see! My son is auctioning me off to the highest bidder, so he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore. Any takers?’ he sighed, folding his head into his hands. He needed someone to talk to - someone with an outsider's perspective. He looked down at his phone again.

 

Toni-macroni changed Jimmy-boy’s nickname to: Jimincricket. 

 

Platypus: should i be offended?

 

Toni-macroni: They’re cute but deadly.

 

Platypus: OK then

 

Hammerhead: Let me make it up to you. Dinner?

 

Platypus changed Toni-macroni’s nickname to: Hammerhead.

 

Platypus: Usual spot?

 

Hammerhead: Usual spot. Be there for 8.

 

Hammerhead: Also, why a hammerhead?

 

Platypus: bc hammerhead shark was too long.

 

Hammerhead: *Why a hammerhead shark?

 

Platypus: bc they look dumb

 

Hammerhead: :O 

 

* * *

 

“You’re late.”

 

“You’re early,” Tony replied, sitting in the chair sat across him. The balcony overlooked the city, but the noise and the commotion below didn’t reach them. They were a world apart from it all. The thought was oddly freeing. Tony held the menu out in front of him, refusing to meet Rhodey’s gaze. He knew the moment he did it would be the end of him, and everything would come out - all of the past years added up, and they’d be nothing to stop him. Rhodey, however, had a different idea and waved the waitress over to order their meal. Without looking at the menu, he ordered fresh lasagne, with a side of salad and french fries. 

 

“And my friend here will have the homemade casserole, with a side of fresh bread rolls,” he said, without missing a beat. Tony looked at him with wide eyes. The waitress took the menus away, Rhodey looked at Tony with a knowing smile “what? You think after all of these years I don’t know your go-to dish?” he laughed, “Javis took you here when you were little. You’d always order the cheeseburger because Howard never allowed you to eat ‘junk food.’ Javis world order the casserole. After he died you started ordering the same.” he took a sip from his glass of red wine, “it reminded you of him.” he finished with a shrug.

 

“Rhodey, you are a man after my own heart.”

 

“Only now you’re starting to notice?” 

 

Tony laughed. He hated how nervous it sounded. He wished the waitressed didn’t take the menus away, he couldn’t hide the blush spreading across his cheeks with his hand alone. 

 

“I didn’t ask you out for dinner so we could flirt.”

 

“First of all you’re missing out.” he winked, “and second of all, I gathered that. This doesn’t happen to do the fact that your son has taken it upon himself to be your wingman. I have to hand it to the kid, he knows what he’s doing.” he leaned over, his phone facing Tony. He went on Peter’s Grindr account and scrolled through ‘Tony’s’ account. The pictures weren’t at all flattering: there was a collection of photos, one taken after the other of Tony sleeping on the couch, drool hanging out of the corner of his mouth as Peter tried to rest random objects on him, creating a small tower. The last photo was of him waking up, startled by the noise of the tower falling, looking confused and bewildered. “

 

“He really knows how to capture your character,” Rhodey said, smiling. The waitress came over with their food, she set them down with silverware, folded neatly in a napkin. She smiled, asking if that was everything. They nodded, thanking her for service. She excused herself, leaving them to eat. Tony’s appetite wasn’t what it was a few moments ago. He felt nauseous, pushing the casserole around his plate. 

 

“Did the food do something wrong?”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve been frowning at it for the past five minutes.”

 

Tony set the spoon down. “Am I a bad father?” he said finally, looking up at Rhodey. Rhodey stilled. One side of his cheek was stuffed with lasagne. He swallowed thickly, pushing his plate away from him. 

 

“I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

 

“I-”

 

“- I don’t know, does a bad father make sure that he has clothes to wear, food to eat, a roof over his head?”

 

“No-”

 

“Does he tell him bedtime stories? Even when he, himself should be asleep? Does that stop him from getting up, hours later when his son wakes up from a nightmare? Does he scare the monsters away? Does he make him feel safe?” Rhodey continued hotly.

 

“No, i-”

 

“Does he make him feel accepted? Does he make him feel prepared for the big wide world? Does he make him feel like there is nothing he couldn’t ask for?”

 

“...No.”

 

“Most importantly Tony does he make him feel loved?”

 

“No.” 

 

“Do you do all that and more for Peter?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

Rhodey held Tony’s hand, “then you’re doing just fine.”

 

“Then why does Peter want another dad?”

 

“Y’know for a self-reclaimed genius you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Peter doesn’t want another dad. He just wants you to be happy!”

 

“I am happy!”

 

Rhodey squeezed his hand. “Are you?”

 

Tony looked down at their hands. He had missed this. The familiarity, the natural chemistry between them. It would be so easy to…. Tony licked his lips. 

 

“It’s always been Peter and me. We raised each other. We’ve come so far together. We’ve watched each other succeed and fail countless times, and despite everything, despite what the world throws at us we’ve managed to grow because we knew we weren’t alone. We had each other. And now… now Peter’s moving to university and I, “ Tony swallowed. “I don’t know who I am if not a single dad.”

 

“You’re Tony fucking Stark,” Rhodey answered as if it answered everything. And it did - for the most part. Tony whined, “what does that _ mean _ ?”

 

“It means you can be whoever the hell you want to be.” Rhodey picked up his fork again, “whoever it is, I look forward to meeting them.”

 

* * *

 

Tony stands above the stone fire pit centred in the middle of the balcony. Usually, it’s sealed shut, beneath a black slate of marble that’s used as an island. Rising from the floor the fire pit is restored back to life with a flick of a match. Tony holds a box on his side, he turns a letter in his hand. There is no name. Only an address. He burns the corner of the letter, watches as the flames swallow it whole, and just like that: his secret is kept. The rest of the letters follow. He walks away, leaving the box to burn. He doesn’t notice the shadow watching him from the balcony window.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night Tony knocks on Peter’s door. Tony faintly hears Peter curse, the sound of something falling and the shuffling of feet, drawing nearer. Peter opens the door. He looks nervous. Guilty. 

 

“I know.” 

 

Peter stiffens. He stares, wide-eyed at Tony. Peter moves his mouth, but nothing comes out. 

 

“Set me up on a date." Tony says, hastily. Peter makes a strangled noise in response. "Or dates." More strangled noise. "Whatever.” Tony turns, leaving a bewildered looking Peter at the door.


	7. The Letter.

Peter hadn’t been avoiding Tony exactly. Just that every time Tony had entered a room, he suddenly remembered he had to be elsewhere. Far, far away from Tony. Peter had a lot of time before she needed to start thinking about university, he hadn’t even thought about what he’d need to bring yet, as the half-started list, that laid forgotten about on Peter’s desk would tell you. First, the essentials: some form of ID, University acceptance letter, bank details, noise cancelling headphones, Iron Man PJs - bought from the man himself, for the 3pm fire alarms he had been warned about from numerous online forums, along with his laptop, his laptop charger, an extension cable, a rack of burnt CDs, phone-

 

His phone.

 

Peter looked over at the pair of black jeans Loki had bought him, crumbled up in a pile on the floor. He had come home last night without his phone. He had lost it, somewhere in between having a panic attack and meeting the reincarnation of Jesus himself, Peter had lost his phone, along with all of his contacts - and by that, he meant all of his future step-dads - killing Tony’s chances of ever finding love again. He groaned, his head falling into his hands as he sat on the corner of his bed. He wanted to sink back into his bed, with his heavy head, and heavier heart and sleep, until he couldn’t tell his dream became a reality. In his dreams, he was a child. The top of his head skimmed Tony’s chest, and everything he looked up, he’d have to crane his neck back and stand on his tippy toes. Sometimes, Tony would let him rest on his feet, and for a brief moment, he’d be eye-level with Tony. He focused on his eyes, which were darting back and forth, shining in the sunlight. They were a deep, earthy brown - the colour of Earth after a torrential downpour of rain. They held secrets, the same way pots hold soiler, layer upon layer, to keep the little seedling safe; Peter was that seed, and standing there on Tony’s feet, he felt grounded. For the past few weeks, his legs had started to ache, a dull throb that started close to his calves and travelled to the ends of his toes. It was like he had been uprooted, his feet searching for a solid surface; somewhere to land. He was falling - or suspended, he couldn’t tell which, and he didn’t know how much longer he could take it. He knew what he had to do. He retrieved a coat from his wardrobe, grabbed his wallet and ran out of the room. He needed to fix things between him and Tony, but first, he needed his phone. 

  
  


It was raining heavily. Peter raised his coat over his head, trying to see through the sheet of rain. He saw the main door of the warehouse, and sprinted across the street, over the tram lines and slowed down, coming to stand at the entrance of the alleyway that Bucky had led him to. 

 

He leaned into the door, pushing it open with his shoulder. He was met with an empty room. The warehouse was closed, he had arrived early in the evening, not wanting a redo last night’s events. The door to the warehouse was open, Peter took that as a sign that someone was in. He closed the door shut, snuffing out the little light of the outside world. The darkness closed in around him. He moved his hand to the wall, feeling his way around the warehouse until there was nothing to hold on to anyone - that feeling, the one from before, of being suspended came back to him. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he continued forward. A hand stopped him.

 

Peter screamed “Fuck me-!”  into the face of a hooded man behind him. He retreated his hand back to the front of him in surrender. 

 

“Well, since you asked nicely…” Peter couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. 

 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

 

“Shame,” said the man, lowering his hands to his side. The man was taller than Peter, broader too. His face was hidden underneath a red hood. He stood with his head low, shadows casting over his face. Looking at him, it looked like he was just that - a shadow, animated to life. If he was asked, Peter couldn’t explain the strange, gravitational pull that had him fall into the man’s orbit. It was odd. The man must’ve noticed that something had changed between them, because he looked uncomfortable, shyly staring down at his feet.

  
  


“What are you doing here anyway? It’s a bit early in the evening to be out clubbing. I’ve heard of the early bird gets the worm, but you have to give the worms a chance to wake up first.”

 

“I came to see if anyone has handed in my phone. I lost it the other night.” 

 

The man seemed to hesitate, before saying, “the lost and found box is at the back. C’mon, you can root around there for a bit to see if you can find what you’re looking for. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” 

 

Peter followed him to the far side of the warehouse, behind a set of double doors that led to the cloakroom. There was a desk - well, ‘desk,’ it was a corner slab of plastic, below a little window with a hole at the bottom that you’d hand our coats through. On the other side was a room with metal railings that lined the walls. It looked like someone lived there: there was an empty pizza box on the floor, a small cable TV on a stack of vinyl CDs and posters of bands Peter had never heard of all over the wall. The man took a slice of pizza from the box and ate it. Peter grimaced. 

 

“You ‘ant sume?” the man asked, holding it out to him. 

 

“...No it’s… all yours.” the man shrugged. He walked over to the overside of the room, kicking several boxes from under the railing, that was marked: FINDERS KEEPERS. Peter moaned. There were so many!

Peter hadn’t even touched the bottom of the first box before something sticky touched his hand. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is…”

 

The man patted his shoulder. “It’s best you don’t know.” 

 

Peter nodded, slowly releasing the item and deciding to empty the boxes onto the floor. 

 

“So,” Peter began “Do I get to know your name? Or do I keep referring to you as the ‘hooded figure’ in my head?”

 

“So the author grew tired of that, did they?” the man laughed, leaning over to catch another pizza slice by its end, “you can call me anything you like.” 

 

“Okay, shit weasel.”

 

“No, not that. That’s my friend.”

 

“Get out, you do not have a friend called Weasel.”

 

“Would I lie to you?”

 

“Probably. I don’t know you.”

 

“Let’s change that.” the man blurted and seemed to regret saying it as soon as he had. Peter chose to ignore it.

 

“Is he a furry?”

 

He shrugged. “Probably.”

 

“Are you a furry?”

 

“Aren’t we are furries deep down?”

 

“Speak for yourself.”

 

“Oh no? Who were your first Disney character crush?”

 

“Tramp - _ ah fuck _ .”

 

“Hah! See, you’re halfway there.”

 

Peter said in mock horror, “I’m a furry.” 

 

“The first step to recovery is acceptance.” the man nodded solemnly, looking like a wise, mysterious figure if he hadn’t broken his composure and burst out laughing. 

 

“Please” Peter sighed, “have mercy. I am already having a bad day - no, correction, a bad week, no, wait, month, oh God, how long has this been going on for…” Peter stared at the remnants of the lost and found box on the floor. The man watched from the saggy bean bag chair, Peter wasn’t sure if it was yellow or had been stained. Duct tape was crisscrossed over the side, trying to keep it from falling apart. Emphasis on trying. The man might as well of be sat with him on the floor. In fact, he wouldn’t of minded that. He wouldn’t of minded that at all. Strange energy rolled off of the man’s shoulders. It reminded Peter of his anxiety, but he was more jerky and erratic. This was something different. It was coiling, tempting him in. A small part of him wished he wouldn’t find his phone, if not for the excuse to stay and talk to the man. 

 

The man noticed him looking, he lifted his head and said, “Wade.”

 

“What?”

 

“My name. It’s Wade, Wade Wilson if you’re fancy. Or trying to steal my identity.”

 

“Nice to meet you Wade. I’m Peter.”

 

“Peter…” he said out loud as if testing to see how the name would sound coming out his mouth, rolling it on the back of his tongue, tasting it- 

 

“Holy shit.”

 

Peter turned. 

 

“You’re him. You’re the sugar baby.”  WIde eyed, Peter stared at Wade. His cheeks warmed underneath his hands, as he tried to his face - as if, by some miracle, Wade had terrible depth perception, and hiding would make him invisible.

 

Peter choked. “What?” his cheeks shone through the gaps of his fingers.

 

“I found your phone. Man, I haven’t seen that many notifications from Grindr since I catfished as Ryan Renolds. Boy, that was fun.” he sighed dreamily. Peter imagined a thought bubble over the man’s head, of him, disguised as Ryan Renolds, laughing evilly as he rubbed his dark moustache like Dick Dastardly. 

 

“You have it?” Peter said excitedly, bursting the man’s thought bubble. The man blinked, momentarily dazed at Peter’s excitement. His stature seemed to soften, his broad shoulders lowered and he leaned forward as if trying to make him look smaller, less intimidating. 

 

“Yeah, I didn’t hand it in to lost and found. The staff use the lost and found box as a lucky dip. It wouldn’t have lasted a day. Stay here, let me go and get it.” He rolled ungracefully out of the bean bag chair, onto his feet and ran out of the room. 

 

When he came back, he practically crashed into the door. Peter had started to box the lost items from the floor, careful not to touch anything that looked like it could give him STDs. Which was a lot harder than it looked. Wade bent down, bouncing on his heels happily as he handed Peter his phone. Peter wishes he said thank you, politely excused himself and left with his dignity, but he was so happy to see his phone, that he squealed, and launched himself at Wade, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he clutched his phone to his chest. 

 

“Wow,” Wade said, sounding dazed, “must be some dick pics you’re getting to be that happy to have it back.”

 

“Shut up. The profile isn’t for me. It’s for my dad.”

 

“Yeah because that isn’t weird or anything.”

 

“Now that I’m saying it out loud…. Yeah, okay, you got me there.”

 

“Does your dad know?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“That’s somehow even weirder.”

 

“It’s for his own good.”

 

“It must be some dry spell.”

 

“Ew, no not like that - I mean - I don’t want to think about that.” Wade laughed as Peter screwed up his nose in disgust. 

 

“Sorry, what can I say? I’m a tramp.” Peter couldn’t tell if he was winking or not but smiled anyway. 

 

“Does that make me Lady?”

 

“With those doe eyes? Please. You’re Bambie.”

 

Peter laughed, “Well, thanks again.”

 

“That’s the fourth thanks.”

 

“Well, I mean it.”

 

“You know if you really wanted to thank me you could-”

 

“I am not wearing those fur covered handcuffs.”

 

“Darn”.

 

“But I will take you out for lunch.”

 

“...You will?”

 

“I will.” Peter eased himself onto his feet, leaving Wade to remain crouched on the floor, staring ahead. He leaned down to Wade’s ear and whispered, “and maybe we’ll see about the handcuffs afterwards.” he left Wade on the floor, choking back his own tongue.

 

As he was about to make his exit, feeling rather pleased with himself he heard the door open behind him, and a flustered looking Wade running towards him. He stopped halfway, and said, “How will I know when to pick you up?”

 

“I asked. I’ll pick you up, and if you’re anything like I think you are you would’ve already added your number into my phone.” 

 

This time it was Wade’s turn to blush.   
  
  


* * *

 

Peter was happy to have his phone back, he was even happier to see that had been missed. There were several messages, all asking if he was okay. Although for Loki, it wasn’t a direct question - it never was with him, it was more subtle.

 

Lowkeyabitch: From a scale from 0-10 how was the outfit?

Lowkeyabitch: Trick question. It’s above 10.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Must’ve been some night if you’re still sleeping.

Lowkeyabitch: Have you tried the hair of a dog? You can’t be hungover if you’re always drunk.

Lowkeyabitch: That’s something my brother used to say to me. 

 

Lowkeyabitch: Are you dead? If you’re dead i’ll resurrect you and kill you myself.

 

Spiderson: Loki. It’s been a day.

 

Lowkeyabitch Oh so now he speaks

 

Spiderson: Loki

 

Lowkeyabitch: Now he graces me with his presence

 

Spiderson: Loki please

 

Lowkeyabitch: NOW HE DECIDES I’M WORTH HIS TIME

 

Spiderson: I’m sorry

 

Lowkeyabitch: Oh he’s sorry, well then that changes everything now doesn’t it? 

 

Spiderson: I lost my phone.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Excuses.

 

Spiderson: I had a panic attack.

Spiderson: I had to leave, a man took care of me until I could breathe again.

 

Lowkeyabitch: A man ‘took care’ of you?

 

Spiderson: Not like that.

 

Lowkeyabitch: … Has that happened before?

 

Spiderson: Yeah. A few times. Just, it’s been a while since it last happened. It took me by surprise, that’s all.

 

Lowkeyabitch: So you’re not dead.

 

Spiderson: I’m not dead.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Good.

 

Spiderson: Loki?

 

Lowkeyabitch: Yes?

 

Spiderson: I really am sorry.   
  


Lowkeyabitch: Apology accepted.

Lowkeyabitch: Just

Lowkeyabitch: Be more careful next time.

 

Steve was less understanding.

 

Icecap: So let me get this straight.

Icecap: You followed a strange man

Icecap: Into an alleyway

Icecap: ALONE

Icecap: and he offered you a drink

Icecap: From a FLASK

Icecap: AND YOU TOOK IT

 

Spiderson: Yes

 

Icecap: asdfgh

 

Spiderson: Oh god

Spiderson: Steve?

Spiderson: Steve, talk to me, are you okay?

 

Icecap: I brke te eyboard

 

Spiderson: what

 

Icecap I BRKE TE EYOARD

 

Spiderson: HOW

 

Icecap: I DNT KNW

Icecap: I WS MD

 

Spiderson: You were mad?? At what??

 

Icecap U!!!!!

 

Spiderson: Y????

 

Icecap: U KNW Y!!!

 

Spiderson: Listen, okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of followed him.

 

Icecap: U TNK????

 

Spiderson: He looked like Jesus.

Spiderson: If you can’t trust Jesus who can you trust

 

Icecap: … he what

 

Spiderson: You fixed it!

 

Icecap: He looked like Jesus?

 

Spiderson: Yes, a reincarnated, white Jesus.

 

Icecap: Did he tell you his name?

 

Peter did not realise the catalyst he was about to fuel. He had no idea of the match he was holding or the trail of gasoline to Steve’s front door. All he knew what that yes, he, in fact, did have a name, and saw no reason why he shouldn’t tell Steve. After all, it was unlikely he’d meet him again. 

 

Spiderson: Bucky.

 

Icecap: Jesus.

 

Spiderson: That’s what I’m saying!

 

And then Peter remembered their conversation. Bucky had known Peter - or rather, he had recognized him from Grindr. He looked at his matches, and saw his name at the top. He had matched with him. Perhaps ‘unlikely’ wasn’t the right word to use. ‘Fated,’ was perhaps a better choice for words.

 

Spiderson: Thank you. Seriously, if it wasn’t for you they would’ve found me in hidden in one of the bathroom stalls or something. You didn’t have to, but you did.

 

Ilost27pds: I know I didn’t have to.

Ilost27pds: But I wanted to.

Ilost27pds: I’m surprised someone handed in your phone. You’re luckier than most.

 

Spiderson: I’m starting to think you’re right. 

 

Not becoming attached was a lot harder than he thought, he had to remind himself that this was temporary. For Tony’s best interest, he had to remove himself from their lives. It was easier said than done. He had become accustomed to their daily talks. They were all making it harder and harder, sending him messages asking if he was OK, or in Bruce’s case sending him videos of ‘calming videos,’ that included acrylic paint being smeared across a canvas, or formless blobs of slimes being pressed and stretched. It was oddly relaxing.

 

MJ and Gwen had taken another hour of Peter’s time to lecture him on the importance of ‘staying together’ in a club. Afterwards, Peter went downstairs to see if there were any scavengable leftovers in the fridge. 

 

“Friday, where’s Dad?” he asked, picking apart a 

 

“I believe he is outside, wallowing in self-pity.”

 

Well. He hadn’t expected that. The outside bit, not the wallowing. Tony was famous for his wallowing. It was second-nature to him. Tony hadn’t been outside of the tower since … well, Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had been out. He’d have to change that. He walked over to the large, balcony windows. Tony’s back was facing him. He stood above the fire pit his face unreadable. His facial features were sharp against the harsh light. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, Peter could see dark rings underneath his eyes. It wasn’t an uncommon sight and if it weren’t for the redness at the corner of his bloodshot eyes or the look of regret as he stared into the fire, Peter wouldn’t have stayed; he wouldn’t of  seen Tony lowering the letters into the fire one by one, or him straightening up, looking more sure of himself as he took a bundle of letters, bound together by string and sacrificed them to the flames, that reared its head and snatched them from his hands with its great flaming maw. Peter hid away from Tony’s sight as he left the scene.

  
  


“Friday?”

 

“Yes, Peter?”

 

“...How do you get rid of 3rd degree burns?”

* * *

 

“I know.” 

 

Shit. Shit shit shit-

 

“Set me up on a date.” 

 

sh- what

 

“Or dates.” Tony shrugged, not returning his gaze. “Whatever.”  He tried to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, but Peter knew differently. He knew when Tony was anxious, for the same reason he knew when Tony was upset, or angry, or frustrated. He knew because that’s what it meant to love someone: knowing them at their worst, and reminding them that their worst isn’t all of them, only a part, a moment, it’s temporary; but until it is over, you’ll stay with them, if not only to show them that there is a life that exists outside of their world.

 

Speaking of -

 

Peter looked down at his hand. It was blistering red, his skin was beginning to tighten. He had run it under cool water, but the burning hot sensation was still there, bedded underneath his skin, unreachable; it throbbed as he closed it into a fist. The end of his nails was darkened with ash. From an inexperienced eye, it looked like chipped black nail polish. He leaned over his bed, reaching for the letters. He couldn’t save them all. They had turned to ash in his hands. But one remained, untouched. Peter turned it over in his hand. There was an address on the front.  He ran his thumb under the seal. There was no letter inside.

 

Only a picture. 

 

Sat at a window booth of a 1950s diner was a couple, their faces are hidden behind a menu, as both leaned in to share a kiss in secret. There was no mistaking Tony’s brunette hair, crowning the menu. His partner, on the other hand, was a mystery. All he saw was his hand, holding the menu. He could make out a golden band on his finger. Behind them sat Harley’s motorcycle on display, near the front doors leading out onto the busy streets of New York. It had been raining, the photo looked like it belonged to a stain glass window, the light hitting it just right. 

 

Tony didn’t talk a lot about the past, and when he did he spoke of it like he wanted to recover something from it, a part of himself perhaps, that was gone to the person that he was. His life had been a series of misleading roads, that circled back in on themselves; repeating old, bad habits that he led to a destruction end. That is until Peter came. Now, with Peter leaving, he wasn’t certain where the roads would lead him. It wasn’t that he trusted Tony - he did. It’s that he didn’t trust life not to use him as a punchline to a cruel, inside joke.

 

It was times like these that Peter worried about himself. Times, when all logic and order were thrown out of the window, and he fully gave in to an idea. He birthed it on the pages of a notebook and tore out the drafted letter to the hand with a golden ring.

 

It read: 

 

_ The honour would be entirely mine if you could attend my little party. in honour of my son’s final year at Midtown High School, soon to be departing to live out the rest of his youth at university, and forgetting his father in the process - until, that is he needs extra allowance, or his laundry doing in which case I will be once again serving my purpose. Until then, please join us in attending our masquerade party in celebration. _

 

_ Starts at: 7pm - until late. _

 

_ Food and beverages will be in abundance.  _

 

Peter folded the letter inside an envelope, wrote down the address on the front and set it to one side for the morning. When the sun rose, so would he, and he’d waste no time in preparing for the future: a future, in which Tony was happy.

 

But -

 

Just to be on the safe side…

 

Peter re-wrote the letter out on text and sent it to his ‘step-dads.’  He counted down the seconds... 5, 6, 7-

He smiled as several notifications alerted him to having new messages on Grindr. 


	8. Brownies and ice-cream

“Steve, honey. The message isn’t going to change if you keep looking at it.” Peggy’s arms rested on his shoulder, her thumbs easing into his shoulder blades, making small, circular motions, Steve sat back, the tension leaving him. 

 

“I know, I know,” he said, biting down on his cheek, “I can't help but think the invite wasn’t for me.”

 

“So you think this boy somehow accidentally opened his phone, went onto Grindr, wrote out an invitation and  _ accidentally  _ sent it to you.”

 

“Well, when you put it that way.”

 

“When you put it anyway Steve it sounds ridiculous.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. The silence tensed, and Steve sat, seeming to pause in his thought, then -

 

“But what if-”

 

Peggy groaned, letting her head fall forward. It was going to be a long week. 

 

* * *

 

When making an invitation list to a party, Bruce Banner’s name would be at the bottom of the list, unless he was a guest speaker, or it was a convention, called a party to fool others into coming. You’d think of your third cousin, twice removed or your Aunt Helen - who isn’t really your Aunt, but you wouldn’t know else what to call her - before thinking of Bruce. This time, however, there had been an exception: Peter Parker had made the list, and if Peter had made the list, you can be sure that Dr. Bruce Banner would have his name, in bold at the top of the list, with a footnote attached, saying, “I know you’re a busy man, and you probably have something better to do-” Bruce had to laugh at that, “but it’d mean a lot to me if you’d come.” Honestly, how could Bruce say no to that? So for the first time in a long time, Bruce ironed his favourite suit - and by favourite he means the only one he owns - and sent Peter a message back, saying that he'd be more than happy to attend.

 

When making an invitation to list a party, Loki Laufeyson would be at the top of the list, even if Beyonce was attending, he’d still surpass her. After all, it wasn’t a party without the God of mischief. The next day, Peter was awoken to the sound of a tap-tap-tap on his window. He raised himself on his elbows in time to see a magpie, a scroll attached to its leg. Peter ran towards the window, the magpie stepped back as he opened the window, and obediently raised its leg for Peter to take the scroll from. Satisfied that his duties had been fulfilled, the magpie took flight, its black eyes piercing, like a sharp piece of flint, a spark of green flame encircled its pupils, and the rest of him as it combust into flames, leaving behind a cloud of black smoke. Well. That’s not something you see every day, thought Peter as he smoothed down the scroll, but not unexpected, as he saw who it was signed from: 

 

_ It would be your honour. I suspect they’ll be a competition for the best dressed? If so, you'd be better to hand over the prize to me now, rather than later. It’ll save you time. _

_ To save you from embarrassment, I’ve already prepared you an outfit for the occasion. I hope you find it acceptable.  _

_ Yours, Loki. _

 

On cue, Friday’s announced that there was a package waiting for him downstairs. Peter shook his head in disbelief. It was undeniable: Loki was unpredictable. Peter wouldn’t realise the extent of this, until the night of the masquerade. 

Peter heard his phone vibrate. Looking around, he closed in on the noise, retrieving it from a dirty pile of laundry. He smiled down at the name on the screen.

 

Tramp: ‘Eyy baby boi! 

 

Bambi: Hey 

 

Tramp: Ought oh

Tramp: My Peter-senses are tingling

 

Bambi: That’s not a thing

 

Tramp: Then why am I tingling Peter

 

Bambi: Probably the STDs :/

 

Tramp: ANYWAY

Tramp: What’s wrong, my little prince? (◡‿◡✿)

Tramp: Did somebody hurt you

Tramp: I’ll kill them. (☉‿☉✿)

 

Bambi: I’m not even that little

Bambi: and what’s with the emojis

 

Tramp: What emojis (´･ω･`) 

Tramp: You’re a hobbit in denial

 

Bambi: I’m 5’9!!!

 

Tramp: Yeah in heels maybe

 

Bambi: Fuck you

 

Tramp: Already? We haven’t even had our first date yet. 

 

Bambi: About that

 

Tramp: oh

Tramp: God. This came sooner than I thought it would

 

Bambi: What

 

Tramp: I mean, I should’ve known. It was too good to be true.

 

Bambi: Wade

 

Tramp: I mean look at you

Tramp: and then look at me

 

Bambie: Wade 

 

Tramp: This isn’t some fanfic

 

Bambie: WADE

 

Tramp: Yeah

 

Bambi: [Peter sent an image]

 

Tramp: I’m confused

Tramp: Why am I looking at Compton’s Cafeteria?

 

Bambi: Wait

Bambi: You know it??

 

Tramp: DO I KNOW IT

Tramp: THAT’S A PIECE OF OUR HISTORY PETER

 

Bambi: Our history??

 

Tramp: YES. OUR HISTORY. 

Tramp: /QUEER HISTORY, PETER/

Tramp: Compton’s Cafeteria is the first recorded LGBT-related riot in American history! It marked the beginning of transgender activism.

 

Bambi: That’s from Wikipedia isn’t it

 

Tramp: WIKIPEDIA IS A GOOD, RELIABLE SOURCE AND NO ONE WILL CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

Tramp: I’m revoking your trans card

 

Bambi: Try it.

Bambi: I dare you (◕‿◕)

 

Tramp: Yikes

Tramp: Actual shivers, baby.

Tramp: So, why do you have a postcard of Compton’s?

Tramp: And who are those people kissing?

Tramp: Do you know them?

 

Bambi: Yeah.

Bambi: Well, kind of.

Bambi: One of them is my dad. And the other

Bambi: Well, the other is a complete mystery. 

Bambi: It’s a long story.

 

Peter held his breath, waiting for a response.

 

Tramp: Start at the beginning.

 

And Peter did.

 

Tramp: Holy… shit.

Tramp: We ARE in an fanfic.

 

Bambi: Really, that’s all you got from that?

 

Tramp: Well, that and I’m dating the wrong Stark

Tramp: shit i mean

Tramp: Courting 

 

Bambi: “”courting??”” What are we in the 18th century?

 

Tramp: I’d drop my handkerchief in front of you <3

 

Bambi: how romantic

 

Tramp: Yknow what else is romantic

 

Bambi: don’t

 

Tramp: LOVE LETTERS

 

Bambi: I’m not writing you a love letter.

 

Tramp: hmph

 

Bambi: Look how well it worked out for my dad

 

Tramp: Ouch, Peter.

 

Bambi: sorry

 

Tramp: Peter?

 

Bambi: Yeah?

 

Tramp: We can go as slow as you like.

 

Bambi: Thanks Wade.

 

Tramp: (◠‿◠✿)

 

Bambi: stop

 

Tramp: (╯︵╰,)

 

Bambi: I’m going to go. Tonight.

 

Tramp: Where? To Compton’s?

 

Bambi: Hm. Maybe I can ask around, see if anyone used to work there.

 

Tramp: Ok. I’m coming too.

 

Bambi: You don’t have to

 

Tramp: I know. I want to. Besides, it's downtown. It’s dangerous for you to go out at night. 

 

Bambi: I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.

 

Tramp: Please? After all, you owe me a date.

 

Bambi: Your idea of a date is investigating my dad’s long lost lover?

 

Tramp: I’d take it over a love letter any day.

 

Bambi: Wade, you’re amazing.

 

Tramp: I know (▰˘◡˘▰)

Tramp: I’ll pick you up at 8.

 

Bambi: See you then.

 

That night, Peter laid on his bed on his stomach, Loki’s package within reach. He hadn’t opened it yet, but he had thanked him for it, and asked about the Magpie.

 

Spiderson: He knows how to make an exit.

 

Lowkeyabitch: He takes after me, although I am more fond of an entrance myself.

 

Spiderson: I expected nothing less.

 

Lowkeyabitch: Do you mind if I bring a plus one?

 

Spiderson: As in a date?

 

Lowkeyabitch: God no, and ruin my chances with your father? I think not. My brother is in town, and he saw the invite. He was particularly taken in by the prospect of free food and beverages.

 

Spiderson: I didn’t know you had a brother!

 

Lowkeyabitch: Don’t hold your breath. He’s nothing like me.

 

Spiderson: You’re one of a kind

 

Lowkeyabitch: And don’t you forget it. So, may I? I ask out of courtesy of course, he’ll end up turning up either way.

 

Spiderson: Of course! The more the merrier. :)

  
  


He, somehow, by some form of miracle, had Stephen say he’ll be attending after many pleads and bargains on Peter’s end he gave in. Although, if anyone asked, he would’ve said yes the first time, if he hadn’t of wanted to see how far Peter would go. When Peter said he’d go to Disneyland without him, he knew Peter had caught on, and suddenly, his entire schedule had opened up. 

 

Bucky was the first to say yes. 

 

Ilost27pds: Can I bring Moose?

 

Spiderson: I’d be offended if you didn’t. 

 

Ilost27pds: Does he have to wear a mask too?

 

Spiderson: What, in case he’s mistaken for another emotional support dog?

 

Ilost27pds: yeah

 

Spiderson: … sure.

 

Ilost27pds: It’d be easier to find me, anyway. Just look for the dog the size of a bear.

 

Spiderson: Bold of you to assume I’d want to find you.

 

Ilost27pds: I’ll watch you suffer through small talk in a room full of masked strangers then.

 

Spiderson: wait no

 

Ilost27pds: That’s what I thought.

 

Spiderson: Hey, Bucky?

 

Ilost27pds: Yes?

 

Spiderson: I’ve been meaning to ask you something

 

Ilost27pds: I think I know what this is about

 

Ilost27pds: yes i’ll date your dad

Spiderson: How *did* you lose 27 pounds?

Spiderson: wait what

Ilost27Pds: wait what 

 

Ilost27pds: I lost an arm.

 

Spiderson: Asgfhsgdf.

Spiderson: YOU WHAT

 

Ilost27pd is typing ….

 

Tramp: Your chariot awaits.

 

Peter looked at the time. It was at 8 o’clock. Time flies when you’re talking to potential step-dads… 

 

Spiderson: I have so many questions but my date is hereihavetgonowbye

Lowkeyabitch: YOU WHAT

 

Spiderson: THAT WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU, THAT WAS FOR JESUS’ EYES ONLY

 

With one arm in his leather jacket, the other shouldered his backpack. He leaned against his bathroom door, catching one last look in the mirror, and running his hands through his hair, smoothing it down, away from his face. He smiled reassuringly at himself, before making a mad dash for the door. 

 

He slowed down, coming to the main doorway, trying to not look like he ran down 12 flights of stairs. Peter wasn’t sure what Wade meant by ‘chariot,’ he entertained the thought, thinking that Wade had hired an actual chariot, with a pair of white stallions, or he owned a motorbike, with ‘chariot’ written in gold cursive on the side. He wasn’t close. A red wagon would’ve made more sense, then what greeted him outside: Wade, leaning against a dark, blush of red. A slit of amber, cast over Wade, his shadow casting over him. Peter couldn’t see his face, but he knew from the way Wade was standing that he was proud of the tamed beast behind him.

 

Wade almost outdid Loki on making an entrance. Almost. Wade walked over to the passenger side of the car, opening the door. “Shall we?” he asked, extending his hand. Peter took it, allowing Wade to draw him closer.

 

“We shall.” 

 

* * *

2 Americanos, 4 gin and tonics and half a pound cake later, Peggy was starting to fantasise about killing Steve with a butter knife. Thankfully, after 5 pints (and counting) he excused himself to use the restroom, leaving Peggy to rest her head on the diner table, her hands resting on the sides of a coffee mug in front of her.

if she heard the name Tony mention one more time-

 

“--Tony wrote love letters, but never sent them?” That wasn’t Steve. Peggy moved her head to one side, watching the new customers. The man who voiced the question was broader, taller too, and looked older than the other who he was holding the door open for. The sound of a bell announced their arrival if their laughter and constant back-and-forth teasing wasn’t enough to make their presence known. The younger boy eyes scanned the room carefully, seeming to take in every detail, hesitating at a booth closest to the door. 

 

“It was here.” he sounded distant, lost to a memory that wasn’t his, the boy seated himself at the booth. Knowing the weight of the words, the older man seemed conflicted, not knowing whether or not to sit or to stand, as if the act would soil the memory. The younger boy smiled, gesturing for him to sit, and the man did so slowly. 

 

“It feels so weird. Like, I’m sitting in memory, that isn't even mine to know…” 

 

“What do you think they did that night, that led them to here?”

 

There’s a movement - the younger boy unfolds something from his pocket, laying it out on the table in front of him. “It’s early. Really early. You can tell by the shadows, and the light reflecting in the window here - do you see? The sky is pink but still cloudy. It just rained.”

 

“I see. Maybe they came in to shelter from the rain, and one thing led to another and-” the older man’s hand brushes against his. The younger lowers his head. He doesn’t meet the man’s eyes. Peggy can see a small, suppressed smile on his face. 

 

“And then what?” his voice is softer, close to a whisper. Peggy doesn’t realise she’s leaning in when Angie sets down a plate of a warm batch of brownies, topped with vanilla ice-cream.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am, we didn’t order this-”

 

“It’s on the house.” Sending a wink over at Peggy. If Peggy wasn’t already married to her, she would be on her knee asking for her hand. 

 

“Oh, thank you!” He reminded Peggy of Steve when he was younger. He had the same build, the same charism, the same bright, radiating smile, that made the whole room lit up, but the physical comparisons stopped there -- at his eyes. Long, dark lashes framed a pair of golden rings.

 

Peggy stiffened, hearing an audible gasp behind her. She turned, seeing Steve standing at their booth. His face paled, staring past her at the boy, whose attention was caught between the mouthful of brownie, and the handsome, blonde haired man across the room.

 

“Peter?”

Peter choked back the brownie, audibly swallowing it down, and gasping out the name "MR. ROGERS?"


	9. The Ward

“Steve? How do you know him?” Steve visibly stiffened. 

 

“Ah. Well. You see. Funny story actually.”

 

“Grindr.” the man answered, smirking from the booth. 

 

Peggy watched as Steve’s face turned in colour, and back to the boy, who’s cheeks was turning the same shade of red. “Steve… tell me you’re not. He’s far too young.”

 

Steve choked. The boy - Peter, she learns interrupts, “No, it’s not like that, I swear” he waves his hands out in front of him, his voice rising at an alarming rate, and with it, so does he. He is now half-standing half-sitting on the booth, close to falling off if it wasn’t for Wade’s hand holding his arm. 

 

“He wants to date my dad!” there’s a beat of silence, before Peggy, and Angie coming out from behind the counter burst into laughter. Steve’s head falls into his hands. Peter rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “that… could’ve been worded better” he says, looking down at his feet, shifting from one foot and onto the other. Wade comes behind him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her smile wide, showing all of his teeth. 

 

“You’re a riot,” Wade laughs, earning an elbow to the stomach. 

 

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Peggy said, looking bemused. Angie was trying and failing, not to burst out laughing, holding it in with, by pressing her hand over her mouth as best she could.

 

“I think this calls for some coffee,” she says, quickly excusing herself. Peggy rolls her eyes, her lips pursed into a smile as she hears Angie laugh from the kitchen.

 

 Seated at the booth, Peter looks at the small audience around him. Her open his mouth recloses it, and then opens it again, he does this a few more times before turning to Wade, his eyes pleading for him to take over. On cue, Wade launches into a detailed story on how Peter started a Grindr account in the search for a new ‘step-dad,’ from there, Steve takes over, his voice low, a little embarrassed admitting out loud that he was interested in Tony. His smile turned soft, looking up at Peter.

 

“But I stayed for Peter. Even if Tony wasn’t interested, I knew I made a friend.” he looks between Peggy and Angie, “I don’t have many of those.” he looks distant for a moment, lost to another time. Another place. Another person.

 

Peter smiles down at the coffee mug in his hand, “me neither. Good friends are hard to come by these days.” 

 

Peggy shakes her head, “Honestly, I’m just shocked you knew how to work Grindr. It’s like watching a caveman discovering fire for the first time”

 

“Hey!”

 

“You did break your keyboard.” Peter supplied.

 

“He what?”

 

“Oh great, this is great, now I have three of you to torment me.”

 

Peggy extended her hand out to Peter, “welcome to the club, kid.” Peter shook her hand.

 

“This makes a nice change. Usually, I'm the one getting bullied-” he laughed, and after a minute or two realised no one else was laughing. He looked around the booth. They stared at him, a mixture of concern and shock written on their faces.

 

Peggy pursed her lips. “We’re starting a new club. Everyone who agrees to start a Project Peter Patrol says I”

 

The whole booth responded, “I!”

 

Peter rested his head on the table. “What have I done.”   
  


 The rest of the night was slow, full of laughter, stories and jokes, at one point Steve asked Peter if the invite was, in fact, real, and it was meant to be sent to him, in which Peter responded with a laugh, an excited “yes!” and Peggy let out a sigh of relief. Peter did not tell him that he had invited the other, potential step-dads, thinking he wouldn’t attend if he thought there were others like him. He also did not mention the letters or the postcard that rested in his jacket pocket. Peggy looked between Peter and Wade and asked how they met. Peter looked away from Steve, who immediately caught on. “You went back to the nightclub, didn’t you?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“What happened at the nightclub?” Angie leaned in to ask, stacking their plates on top of each other.

 

“Nothing happened!” Peter rose to his own defence,

 

“Nothing, other then you following a stranger outside!”

 

Wade turned to Peter, “I’m sorry, you what?”

 

Steve leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest looking triumphant. “He followed a stranger into an alleyway. Alone. At night. And very much under the influence.” 

 

Peter lowered into his seat under the judgemental gaze of all four adults … well, if you counted Wade as an adult.

 

“I had a panic attack. He noticed and took me outside for some air. That’s all. Nothing. Happened.” he looked over to Wade, “and you can’t talk! If it wasn’t for him I would never have gone back and met you.”

 

Wade held his hand to his chest, “it was fate” he whispered. 

 

“And he looked like Jesus!”

 

“Jesus?” Angie was back. She would come in and out of the conversation, in between serving tables with a comment, a one-worded question, or simply just to kiss Peggy on the cheek. 

 

“Yeah! His hair was down to his shoulders, and - okay, now that I think about it that’s the only characteristic of Jesus he had - he was a white, tired-looking Jesus, who, it turns out, has me on Grindr.” 

 

At the same time Steve and Wade went, “what?” their tones different, Wade sounded protective, jealous and a little excited by the prospect, whereas Steve sounded shocked, with an undertone of sadness and regret

 

“Yeah, Bucky-”

 

“Bucky?” Peggy pipes up. She looks at Steve, back to Peter, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t mean-”

 

“We should leave.” Steve interrupted, “it’s getting later, and you” he turns to Peter, “shouldn’t be out so late.” standing up, Peggy frees Steve from the end of the booth, and smiles warmly down at Peter. “It was lovely meeting you.”

 

“You too.” but he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at Steve in confusion, and a little hurt at his sudden change in mood. “You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

 

Steve folds his jacket over his shoulder, holding it by the neck.  He swallows back his excuse when looking into Peter’s round, puppy dog eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he says softly. 

 

He gave a pointed look at Wade, “look after him.” Wade gives a mini salute in response. 

 

“Is there anything else I can get you, fellas?” Angie asked, watching Steve leave, shortly followed by Peggy, mouthing to Angie, “I'll explain later.” 

 

“No, no you’ve been more than generous. Thank you. Though, I was wondering…” Peter unfolds the postcard from his pocket, folding it over on the other side where an address was hastily written. “Do you know where this is?” 

 

Angie looked the postcard over, before nodding. “Sure do. It’s not far from here actually, it used to be a - now, let me think...  I believe it was a hospital.” her nose wrinkles at the thought, “Mind you, I use that term loosely. They use to ‘treat’ gay men and women.” she shakes her head, “honestly, you wouldn’t believe the world we used to live in.” she looks between Peter and Wade, her face softening, her eyes sad, but hopeful “you wouldn’t have stood a chance.” 

  
 For the past hour, Wade had been driving around in circles, trying to find an entrance to the hospital and in the end decided to make one of his own, by driving across a field and, what Peter hoped was a scarecrow and not an actual person. The headlights broke through the fog, clearing a pathway into the night, lighting the road ahead. What once was a hospital was now an old, abandoned building, submitting to the will of nature, its walls caving it, the rooftop There were no signs of life - no so much as a birdsong broke the silence. Peter opened the door, trying to see passed the black, iron gates that stretched like a clawed witch’s hand rising from the soil. Wade sat in the car, watching, one hand on the steering will, another on the radio dial, turning the channels. His brow furrowed, the car filled with static with each turn of the knob. Peter stepped out of the car, raising Wade’s coat over his head. He doesn’t remember asking for it. He runs to the front of the gate, testing it, and to his surprise, they opened. Peter looked back, seeing that Wade was watching him he waved him over. He shook his head, looking at the building with a frown. Peter ran back to the car, sliding in the front seat. 

 

“What’s up?”

 

“You don’t know what that place is, do you?”

 

“I’m suddenly not so confident in my answer.”

 

“It’s not a hospital - at least, not the kind we know. The kind when we go in, and if we’re lucky we come out feeling better. They’re the kind you go in and are never heard of again. It’s a conversion camp. Gay men and women would go in to be ‘treated’, back when gay use to be seen as a disease.”

 

Peter swallowed. “Angie was right. We wouldn’t of stood a chance.”

 

Wade laughed, it was dry and humourless, “I don’t know about that. You’re pretty stubborn.” 

 

Peter leaned back in his chair, staring at the building. Just when he thought he came close to an answer, even more questions were raised. 

 

Wade idly turned the dial, titling his head to listen. Through the static, a sound - a word, then a sentence started to form. Peter closed his eyes, listening. My Girl by The Temptations started to play. Wade’s hands tapping on the steering wheel to the beat. The night had lived on in Steve’s absence, Peter and Wade left the diner when the chairs were being stacked on the tables, the closed sign turned, facing their backs as they walked on into the night, the streets clear of strangers. They were high on the feeling of being the only people left alive. Now, coming down from their high, the two leans back in the car seats, the window screen like eyelashes, battering away the rain, mixing it with the city lights, and smearing it across the front window like a blank canvas. Peter turned his head to Wade, catching him mouthing along to the words of My Girl. Wade, realising that he had an audience, turned to Peter, rephrasing the verse, “I’m talking about my boy!” earning a smile from Peter, who sang along with him. 

 

When the song ended, Peter said, “that was strange,” knowing that he didn’t have to expand. Wade had been thinking the same thing since they left the diner. 

 

“Do you think it’s him? The man in the photo’s?”

 

Peter pursed his lips, “It’s a bit of a coincidence that he’s there...at the same diner, my dad was all that time ago, after he matched with me on Grindr. But why wouldn’t have said something sooner?” 

 

“Well, something must’ve happened for the two of them to stop talking. Something big. You don’t go from kissing someone in the diner, and writing love letters to them to nothing without there being a reason.”

 

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in Peter’s chest. “Do you think I did the wrong thing in inviting him?”

 

“Who, Steve?”

 

“The man in the photos.”

 

“You sent it here.”

 

“I did.”

 

“No one lives here.”

 

“The gate was open.”

 

“What?”

 

“The gate. It was open, the chain was on the ground, next to the padlock. Someone’s been here.”

 

“Peter, look!” Peter follows the line of his finger, pointing up towards one of the windows on the top floor. The outline of one of the boarded-up windows briefly lights up.  “Someone’s inside!” He says excitedly, his chest leaning against the steering wheel in a failed attempt to see better when a deafening, car horn shatters the still silence. Wade loudly curses, falling back into his seat with a heavy thud. The light scrambles, retreating back into the darkness. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m-” he stops when he sees Peter smiling. 

 

_ “He’s here.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you think I'm keeping track of the timeline you are WRONG. 
> 
> Also, I have a Twitter now if anyone is interested.


	10. The Wedding Ring

“I don’t know about this, Peter,” Wade said, crawling through the window Peter fell from. The ground came to meet him, and Peter straightened dusting himself off. Peter turned to him with a look of confusion. Wade shared the sentiment: normally, Wade would be the first to suggest breaking into an old, abandoned hospital in search for a lost shadow, that neither of them was entirely sure they saw, or if it was a trick of the light. That said, Wade could be sensible - as long as he balanced it out later with poor lifestyle choices - when he wanted to be, and today was that day, that rare occasion when Wade had to voice his concerns to Peter about him chasing after a strange, possibly dangerous man in the dark, inside of a building that was one wrong step away from collapsing in on itself. 

“Usually I’m the one making reckless decisions…” he mumbled to Peter’s back, who continued on, choosing to ignore him and head towards a staircase, besides a set of elevators. Wade was grateful that Peter didn't try the elevators first.  They did not look safe to look at, let alone stand-in. Wade followed Peter, always one step behind him as he climbed the winding staircase, pausing at every sound, every movement, not out of fear, but curiosity. His brow creased with determination, as he rounded another corner of the stairs. 

 

“He can’t of gone far,” Peter says to himself. In response, the sound of footsteps, slow and dragging could be heard above them.

 

He looked at Wade, grinning. He rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe you’re the crazy one.” he let out a laugh, “you! Not me. But you!” 

 

“Sh! He’ll hear you-” stopping, when Wade’s face fell, looking over Peter’s shoulder. Peter didn’t have to turn to know who it was. A shadow drew nearer, closing in on the door. Peter held his breath. He waited for the man to move on - but the shadow was still, waiting. Peter could feel his eyes on the back of his neck. The shadow stepped away and continued on down the hallway, the faint sound of a solid heel clicking on the tiled floor faded into the background. 

 

“What the fuck was that.” Wade hissed. “He knows he’s not alone. But he didn’t say, or do anything, it’s a -” a loud scream ended his sentence before he could finish, shattering the silence into a million pieces, falling around them in a loud, manic display of motion and sound: resulting in three things, first, Peter ran - not away, but towards the sound, into an empty hallway, a room full of empty beds on either side of him. The scream came again, this time louder, clearer. It sounded like a little boy. Peter frowned, it almost sounded like -

 

Peter’s blood ran cold.

 

Second, Wade chased after him, calling out his name, and third, the shadow, now attached to a man, followed them into a room at the end of the hallway. He was in no hurry, casually swinging what, on his shadow appeared to be a thin black line, crooked at the end at his side. 

 

Peter fell into the door at the end of the hallway, almost losing his balance, rightening at the last minute. The room was empty, besides a closed curtain at the end of the room. The heavy, hysterical sobs lied on the other side. Peter's hand closed around it, tearing down the curtain from its railing. Behind it, sat a wheelie chair its back facing Peter. Peter swallowed. A bead of sweat fell down the side of his face. The rest of him started to feel cold. The hair on the back of his neck raised in warning. Do not, it said, do not touch it - Peter didn't have to. The wheelie chair turned to face him. A recorder was taped to the front of it. It skipped - repeating the little boy's scream.

“Peter!” Wade’s voice brought him back to reality. He slowed down, hand outstretched, “come on. Let’s go home.” Peter wanted to tell him about the recorder, he wanted to tell him what he heard and how it sounded like Tony, but most of all, as a stacked outline of rounded the corner, blocking the last natural remaining bit of light coming from a hole in the ceiling he wanted to tell him that he was sorry. That he shouldn’t have brought him here. That it was a mistake. Because this is exactly what he wanted: To find Tony. No - to hurt him. Tony could've found his lover on his own, but he didn't. The unsent letters, the postcards, was clue enough to know that he wasn't a lost lover. He wasn't even lost. 

He was exactly where he wanted to be: here, with Peter and with that thought, Peter watched as the man raised something thin, turning in on itself towards the end above him and closed down on the back of Wade’s head. Wade’s body sways - he blinks, looking at Peter in confusion for a moment, the panic of leaving Peter on his own starts to settle in - and drops to the floor.

 

Peter isn’t looking at Wade, though. He’s looking at the man, stepping over his unconscious body, lowering the crowbar to his side. He grins, “finally. We have a chance to meet.” his hand falls slack, dragging the end of the crowbar across the floor.  “I'd introduce myself, but something already tells me you already know who I am. But, I was raised better than that," he extends out a hand. "Obadiah Stane, a pleasure I'm sure."

 

And that's when he sees it: the golden wedding ring. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Surprise?


	11. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit this chapter to include Moose w/ a bowtie and texts from more than one 'step-dad'.

There are stories of Tony’s parties, the kind of stories that buy you drinks at a bar if you were a guest there, only to make your lips looser to tell it. The sun lowered overhead, turning the sky a faint pink. Already, the streets were lined with cars in wait for the main doors to the tower to open, and with it, at the stroke of ten a crimson red carpet would unfold, and fall to a pair of black, pointed boots, that rose to their mid-thigh. They stand, momentarily still for the moment, allowing for the crowd to take him in, from head to toe: they are wearing an elegant, emerald dress, with a slit at the side, fastened at his back is a black, fur coat that draped across their shoulders, their black hair frames their narrow jaw nicely, clashing with their pale complex. A golden serpent crowns the head, the crowd move closer, spell-bound, and some swear the serpent winks. They’re followed by a man with a laugh like thunder, golden hair braided down his back. The crowd parts in waves, as one by one, they come The invited. Each in their costumes and masks. You see, no one else was invited to the masquerade. This is a Stark’s ball, after all. Invites were non-existent, until now. The rule was: if your name turned heads, you were allowed in. If not, then you were to watch from the sidelines, like everybody else or live vicariously through Twitter. 

 

 Inside, Tony was anxiously attending to his tie in front of his bathroom mirror. He mumbled to himself, “this is a bad idea, this is a very, very bad idea - Friday!” he said a little louder, “cancel the whole thing.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Your guests of honour have already arrived sir.”

 

“Shit - I’m not even ready.” he leans his elbows against the sink, one hand extending to the glass of whiskey on the side. He takes a swig.

 

“Starting a little early, aren’t you?” 

 

He doesn’t need to look in the mirror to see that he’s smiling.

 

“Rhodey, you came.”

 

“I was invited to.”

 

“You were- what?”

 

Rhodey waved the invite in Tony’s face, the line of worry across his forehead smoothed down, replaced with a smug expression. 

 

“Looks like your kid has some sense after all. Speaking of which, I see he takes after his you for being fashionably late,” he says, taking the whiskey from Tony’s hand and finishing it off.

 

“What? Peter’s not downstairs? That’s not like Peter. His friends are downstairs. He never leaves them waiting.” Tony frowns at his reflection, waiting for it to answer for him. The reflection said nothing, frowning back.

 

Rhodey claps a hand on his shoulder, “I must’ve missed him then,” he says, reassuringly, “he’s probably downstairs, waiting for you.”

 

Tony nods to himself, “yeah, you’re right,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself, more than Rhodey. “You’re right,” he repeats and closes a red, golden trimmed mask over his eyes. Rhodey does the same, only his is a black with a stitch of silver on either side of his eyes, fading to light amber. 

 

They stand side by side, shoulders touching as they take the other in. Rhodey, dressed in all black, with a hint of silver lining underneath his blazer, and on his handkerchief in his front breast pocket. Next to him, Tony is a stroke of colour; in his velvet, maroon blazer, collared with a black bowtie, that he fixes into place. 

 

“We’ve still got it,” Rhodey smirks, squeezing Tony. “C’ mon, let’s not keep the kid waiting.”

  


 

* * *

 

In the main hall, Tony shook hands, introducing himself under different names and titles, and leaving before they could ask too many questions. He passes the bar, the brass railing stocked with wine, centuries-old, above rows of beers from all over the worlds, and bottles of whiskies, that looked like a brewing storm inside, next to the clear vodka bottles, white rum and other classics. Waiters circled the room, serving champagne flutes as big as fish bowls to the guests, returning not long after with another, and another - there was a constant stream of chatter, rising as glasses were clinked, and jokes were shared, the odd rumour being spread - disputed around the main hall were tables of food of every cuisine imaginable. Tony descended the stairwell, leading into the main hall. His foot fell from the last step, and with it, the sound of a bow, pulling back on string sounded; the orchestra had begun. Circles disbanded, only to shortly re-group under the crystal chandelier, flecks of light dancing off the still, drops of crystal hanging from thin, golden branches like icicles.

 

Tony followed Rhodey, easing himself into a group of masked strangers chattering to one another in low, earnest voices over the newest arrivals.

 

 

“Just when you think you’ve seen it all, in comes a golden chariot, led by albino peacocks!”

 

“The look on the valet’s face when they handed him the reigns!”

 

“Poor thing didn’t know what to do with himself.”

 

“I’m sorry, did you say peacocks?” Tony interrupted, looking over at Rhodey in alarm.   
  
  
He laughed, and blocks his mouth with his hand to mutter, "your boy sure knows how to pick 'em".

 

“Yes, didn’t you see? A whole flock of them!” replied a masked woman, lowering her voice leaning into Tony’s side, “Do you see them over there? They’re the ones who rode in on them.” she nodded over to a couple, centred in a ring of people who looked caught on their every word.

 

“Then I believe it's time I introduce myself.” Tony sent a wink over at Rhodey, who sent him a fleeting look back in return, his attention drawn to a man in blue that introduced himself as Sam Wilson. 

 

* * *

 

TheBeast: The last time I saw this many people in masks was at comic-con. 

 

TheBeast: I bought you a graduation gift.  
TheBeast: You don't have to accept it if you don't want to. 

Bruce ran his fingers through his head with shaking hands. Maybe he made a mistake coming here. He didn't even like parties. He wasn't in the right attire. He didn't own a suit. The closest he came to was his plaid jacket, with elbow patches he wore to lecturers. He lowered his head, pushing his way through the crowd, mumbling an apology when his shoulder brushed against a stranger's. The stranger didn't look up from his phone to answer, waving a hand instead and moving over towards one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the hall. 

Dr. Strange: You have an ice-sculpture  
Dr. Strange: shaped like a cherub  
Dr. Strange: SPITTING OUT CHAMPAIGN   
Dr. Strange: AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO ASK ME TO TAKE YOU TO DISNEYLAND?  
Dr. Strange: KID YOU CAN BUY DISNEYLAND.

 

There came no response. Unknown to them, Loki was having a similar issue a few feet from them.  
  


Lowkeyabitch: If you think for one second the silent treatment is going to work on me you are WRONG

 

Lowkeyabitch: OK it's working what’s wrong

Lowkeyabitch: I swear to all of the Gods if that date of yours hurt you

 

Lowkeyabitch: You’re probably sleeping. Big day tomorrow and all. Yeah.

 

Lowkeyabitch: See? I told you I knew how to make an entrance. 

 

 

Loki frowned down at his phone. He hadn’t heard from Peter since he accidentally told him he had a date. 

 

“What’s wrong, brother? Have you still not heard from the son of Stark?” 

 

Loki shakes his head, not trusting his voice. 

  
“You said he has trouble with his nerves. Perhaps the thought of coming down is too much for him.” Thor reasoned, and Loki found himself nodding - yes, that would make sense. Perfect sense. Peter was nervous, that’s all, and hadn’t come down yet. He wasn’t avoiding him. 

 

Finally, they say, “I want to believe that,”

 

They don’t notice the circle disperse. A man in red stands beside him. 

 

“But I can’t. He was on a date last night. He hasn’t said a word to me since.”

 

“And Peter doesn’t keep his friends waiting,” Loki said, at the same time as the man. They turn, in time to see a blur of red disappear into the crowd, swallowing whole like a mere, bloodied morsel, in the underbelly of the hall. Loki chases after him and caught sight of him, spat out onto the window balcony. They follow, the noise rising higher, between then the number of rowdy people were cleaning out Tony’s bar, and discussing the ‘honorary guests,’ rumour has it that Tony was looking for a suitor. Rumours more often than that started as the truth, and were passed on from person to person, each adding their version of the story until it came full circle back around to Tony, standing outside of the balcony someone - Loki can’t see who - leans in and whispers something into his ear. Tony stiffens, “the only person I am looking for,” he said sharply, “is my son!”

  

“That makes two of us.” the stranger says, back off, his face red, hands raised in surrender. 

 

Loki steps forward, “make that three.” they both turn to them. The strange man considers him for a moment, one side of his face is hidden beneath a mask, white-tipped wings on one side, the other ends at his forehead, revealing the rest of his clean-shaven face, and a strand of blonde hair. 

 

“Four.” A gruff voice came from the shadow. They all turned to see a man, leaning against the railings, arms folded across his chest. He had ignored the dress code for the evening. He wasn’t wearing a mask or a costume for the occasion, and rather wearing a leather jacket, with a pair of combat boots and jeans. A pair of dog tags hung loosely around his neck. A round shadow rose from to his side. It made a low, rumbling noise.

 

"Easy Moose." the threat immediately wore off when a black labrador with a blue bowtie lowered itself to his feet, its tongue lolling out from the side of its mouth.

 

 

“Jesus?” Loki said. The blonde-haired man hid his smile under his hand. ‘Jesus’ narrowed his eyes.

 

Tony took a large inhaul of breath, letting out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

 

“You all have five seconds to tell me who you are, and how you know my son.”

 

“Only five-second-” Bucky gruffed.

 

“THREE, _TWO_ -"

 

Loki took this as a chance of opportunity. “That’s all I need. I can’t speak for everyone here,” he looked between the two men, who were avoiding looking at each other. “I consider Peter to be a friend of mine. At first, I thought he was joking when he said he had set a Grindr account for his father,” he looked pointedly at him, “then we started to talk. We had a lot in common. Earlier this week he said that he had a date, the message was meant for someone else,” he looked over to the man with shoulder-length hair. “I haven’t heard from him since. He invited me here. I expected him to show, but I haven’t seen him all night.” he didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. Tony said it for him: 

 

“You think something happened to him,” 

 

“Wade wouldn't hurt him,” they all turned to the blonde-haired man, “They were at the Compton's. My friend, Angie works there. I ran into them. Wade seemed nice. You could tell that he cared about him.” his brow creased, trying to remember what happened last night. He recalls what Peggy had said to him later after they had said their goodbyes. Outside of the diner, Peggy had turned to him, and said, “he talked about a letter.” 

 

“A love letter.” Steve finishes. 

 

This catches Tony’s attention - he’s staring at him, his shoulders visibly tense. “That’s not possible. I burnt then.” he moves towards the fire pit, calling to the flames for an answer. None came. 

 

“Perhaps I can be of assistance, sir?” Fridays sounded around the room. 

 

“What the fuck, what was that-” 

 

“Jesus doesn't curse." 

 

“Fuck you, Steve.” 

 

“Do you two know each other-”

 

“Gentleman, if I may interrupt for a moment.” Somehow, Friday’s voice sounded closer and a little irritated. 

 

“ _Please,_ ” Tony said through fritted teeth.

 

“Given Peter’s recent search history, one can assume he had received a love letter from the fire and has been dealing in 3rd-degree burns since-”

 

"WHAT"  
  


“And he’s been researching LGBT+ history, about the Compton's. The most recent article he has read was one of an abandoned hospital, that used to perform conversion therapy on members of the LGBT+, founded by-”

 

Tony’s face paled, “Howard Stark.”

 

All three of them turn to face him. 

 

“After finding out I was gay, my father renovated an old boarding school, into a conversion camp. It was private to the public eye. No one knew about it. He didn’t even wait for the opening ceremony to end before he enrolled me in.”

 

Steve took a hesitant step forward. Tony looked like he was about to faint any second now. He placed a steady hand on his arm. “I don’t know what this means for you, but if Peter’s in danger, but you have us."

 

He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he needed them. Peter needed them.  If Peter was here, _where he should be_  he reminded himself, he would tell him to accept their help. He couldn't do this alone. "I can't promise you it'll be easy," 

 

The brunette haired man shrugged. “Nothing worth fighting for ever is.”  


	12. Chandelier

Hunched over his desk Tony scanned the number of screens in front of him, each showing a live feed of the tower. He touched one of the screen’s corners, opening it up to a map of New York. “Jarvis, can you pinpoint Peter’s location?” Tony searches for the familiar red dot of Peter. 

 

“You planted a tracking device on your son?” Steve asks.

 

“It was consensual. Wouldn’t you, after many past failed attempts of kidnapping?”

 

“So, something like this has happened before?” Tony doesn’t like the level of judgement coming from his voice. 

 

“No. This - whatever this is - hasn’t happened before. Peter doesn’t know about the attempt. He was too young to understand that being the prodigy son of a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist makes him a target.” 

 

“How humble.” murmurs, with no hint of judgement, but rather, bemusement. 

 

“Sir, I’m afraid Peter’s location couldn’t be found.”

 

“What? No, that’s impossible. Try again.” If Tony wasn’t worried before, not he is. He searches the live feeds of the ball, happening below, as if amidsts a room full of strangers he’d find the answer he was looking for. 

 

Steve came to stand beside him, “if we want to find Peter we’ll need another set of eyes and ears.”

 

“Who did you have in mind?” 

 

Steve rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “you’re not going to like it.”

  
  


* * *

 

Spiderson: We’ve logged into Tony Stark’s Grindr account and saw that you were matched with him, or rather his son, Peter. We’ve looked at your messages - sorry, desperate times calls for desperate measures - and it reads like you really care about him. Peter is missing. We can’t locate him. And

 

Spiderson is typing … 

 

TheBeast: Say no more. I’m in. 

  
  
  


The same message was relayed to Dr. Stranger. 

 

DrStrange: Who’s “we?” 

 

Spiderson: Funny story actually

 

DrStrange: I can’t wait to hear it, then. I’ll do what I can to help. 

  
  


Hammerhead: Emergency. Meet in the labs.

 

Platapus: Emergency or ‘emergency,’ because last time you said it was an emergency you hot glued your hand to the table. 

 

Hammerhead: It’s Peter.

 

Platapus: On my way. 

  
  


 

* * *

 

That’s how each of them came to be assembled in Tony’s lab. Steve took the lead, relaying the last couple of week’s events back to them while Tony continued to look elsewhere, searching the internet for any sightings of his son. Everyone was talking about the masquerade ball, one thing was on everyone else’s minds, including Tony’s: Where was Peter?

 

Rhodey ran in, stopping short when he saw that he wasn’t alone. Tony’s attention was divided between the screens in front of him and his friend at the door. Rhodey looked besides him, where Peter normally would be stood. Tony said nothing. He didn’t have to. Rhodey knew. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

Between the constant circling around the room, and the back and forth pacing Tony had lost a lot of articles of his clothing. For one, his red velvet blazer was gone. His tie was undone, hanging loosely over his neck and the front of his shirt was unbuttoned. 

 

“Tony. Let someone else look at the screens, take a step back.” Rhodey was the only one Tony allowed near him. Even then, he only allowed him to come so far - it was like there was an invisible circle around him, that no one else could see, the second someone came close to it Tony stiffened, rearing back like a caged lion. 

 

“No one else but me knows how to navigate the system.”

 

“Perhaps I - wheeze - can be of assistance?” he paused, shaking an asthma inhaler out of his pocket. “By the way - wheeze - your elevator - wheeze - is out of order.” he said, inserting in inhaler in and taking a deep, delibert breath in. 

 

There it was again. That circle, closing in around Tony, isolating him from the rest of the world -

 

Wait. 

 

Tony looked closer at him.

 

“You’re…”

 

“Dr. Banner, I have to say it’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances-”

 

“Not a total idiot!” Tony beamed. 

 

“I- what.” Bruce did not overlook the several offended looks from the other men in the room. He rubbed the back of his head, “well, I… I try my best,” he replies.

 

Before he knew it he was in front of the screens, on watch for Peter while Tony instructed the others to return to the ball to ask around. 

 

“If one thing is clear, Peter has been missing for more than a day. The person responsible must have known about the ball in advance, meaning,” Steve pauses, looking between each man.

 

Tony finishes, “meaning everyone is suspect.” he circles the room, hands clasped behind his back. “Jarvis, activate a full tower lock down. No one is to get in or out.”

 

“Yes sir. Shall I alert the guests?” 

 

Tony shook his head, “let them think it’s just another night out.”

 

“You trust us.” it wasn’t a question. 

 

He didn’t have to turn around to know they were watching his reaction.

 

His laboratory had been overtaken by strangers, strangers who called themselves Peter’s friends with such an undeniable _ sense of pride  _ that it left no room for Tony to doubt them.

 

“Peter trusts you. That’s enough for me.” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

"Bucky. Bucky, will you atleast look at me?"

 

"Now isn't the time, Steve. In case you've forgotten Peter is missin'." he moves towards the door, Steve's hand closes it to. His hand remains there, over Bucky's shoulder. He can feel his breathe on the back of his neck. 

 

"That's not fair." he sounds small. Uncertain. He lets his arm fall down to his side. 

 

"No, you know what else isn't fair?" Bucky turns around, advancing on him, "Going almost a year without so much as a text message from you, and when I've finally think I've started to move on, here you are! and y'know what the worst part is?" he doesn't wait for an answer, "the worst part, Steve is that despite everything, i'm still happy to see you."

 

Steve isn't sure who looked more shocked, Bucky or him. Before he can respond, his phone starts ringing. He debates leaving it, when he sees who it is.

 

"It's Peggy. She could have information about Peter."

 

"Well then answer it."

 

Steve nods dumbly, "right. Right, yes. Hello? Peggy! What? No I don't sound strange. I'm fine. Perfectly fine," he looks at Bucky. He was less then fine. "Hm? ... Is he okay?" he frowns, mouthing something to Bucky. Bucky waves his hand in front of Tony's screens, catching his attention. He frowns, following Bucky over to Steve. He shields the phone with his hand, "it's Peggy. She's with Angie. They drove past the hospital and saw Wade's red truck outside of the gate. The gate was open," he uncovers the phone, "hm? Yes. Yes. Are you sure? Okay. I'll tell him." 

 

“Is who okay? Is Peter there? Did they find him?"

 

Steve is looking everywhere but at Tony. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and demand the answers out of him, but a hand stops him. It’s Bruce’s. His mouth is a thin line, barely visible underneath his facial hair. He doesn’t realise he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, when his thumb rubs small circles in the base of his shoulder, smoothing down his bundle of nerves, rearing their heads like little fireworks, thristling at the bottom ready to explode. 

 

“Okay, okay… Thank you. You too, take care.” he ends the call.

 

Tony advances on him in seconds, “ _ well? _ ” 

 

“They’ve found Wade. He’s in a bad state.” Tony’s breath catches in the back of his throat, and Peter? What about Peter? He wants to say. Bruce asks for him. 

 

“He’s gone.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Elaborate, now.” this time it’s Loki who speaks. 

“Wade was found in a nearby ditch, outside of the hospital. He was severely wounded. He was barely conscious. She asked him what happened to him, he kept on talking about a wedding ring.” he continues, “Peter wasn’t inside of the hospital. There were tire tracks leading out of the gate.”

“This is my fault,” he said from behind his hands, “ “if I didn’t write those letters, none of this would’ve happened.” he backs up, into Rhodey's arms. He holds him by the shoulders, Tony's body stiffens, bracing for the rising sob that threatens to overpour from him.

 “This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it? What kind of father I am, not knowing that my son has been secretly conspiring behind my back talking to not one, not two, but five men on my behalf, because he doesn’t think I am capable of being without him and - and he’s right, I’m not. I feel like a part of me is missing.” his hand closes around his artificial heart, it blinks out of existence, fading to a dull blue, “it’s breaking my heart, knowing he’s somewhere out there on his own.”

“He’s a smart kid, Tony. He’s like you-”

“I don’t want him to be like me, _I want him to be better_!” 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki had retreats to a different room. He's decided to take matters into his own hands.

Loki spoke in a low, earnest voice to a raven, perched on his shoulder. A clever fellow he is, with shadows attached for wings and a hooked little beak. His dark eyes never blink, shining like hollowed out holes in jack-o-lanterns. The raven tilted its head, listening intently to Loki’s instructions. He extends his wings, taking flight, lapping the room once, twice, three times over for luck and is with a rush of air he’s gone.

He counted the seconds that passed. 

1, 2, 3, any second now, 4, 5… the air around him fizzled, with a loud POP the raven appeared, back on Loki’s shoulder like it never left. Loki tilted his head, listening intently to what it has to say.

“Hm, is that so? How interesting."

 

* * *

 

 

"Where could he be? Jarvis is unable to track him down. I've hacked into the cameras all over New York city, and have seen no sight of him. it's like he's never even existed."

 

"Or," Loki unfolds from the shadows, "he's been in plain sight all along."

 

 

"For once, can you not speak in riddles?" 

"Sir?"

 

"Yes, Jarvis?"

 

"Peter's home."

 

* * *

 

 

The prodigy son. That’s what they called him. Always so focused on his studies, becoming closer to the man that raised him with each challenge that came his way. Though as he watched everyone dance… he found himself missing a part of him he hadn’t known he had lost, his youth. If he could turn back time, he’d have it so Tony could’ve raised him from the beginning. He wouldn’t grow up, knowing what loss was. He wouldn’t be familiar with Death, like an old friend that was always there, even if you didn’t see them. He wouldn’t know what it is like to touch someone’s life, and watch it rot and wither away. Everyone he loved died. He looked at Tony with awe. He was made to add to life; everything he touched felt loved, felt welcomed and accepted. Peter did. He heard him call to Peter as he dumbly stared up at him, as if he was in the next room shouting to Peter. He wanted to dance with Peter, as he shook his head and laughed, he wanted to say how much of a better dancer he was, how every time he walked into a room, the crowd would part in waves and he’d be at the centre of it; he was like the sun, and Peter was caught in his orbit. He didn’t mind. Not one bit. He would stay here forever, if he could. 

 Instead, he found himself saying, “it's a trap!"

The vision went as soon as it came, leaving him in the hands of Stane who looked at him with a mad twinkle in his eye. 

Peter felt his stomach turn and his mind go blank as he stumbled backwards, looking up Stane’s cruel, plague ridden teeth. It had felt so real. He was so close to finding Tony, to warn him, he could feel it. Soon he would be reunited, soon - 

  
  


“Peter!” That wasn’t Stane. It wasn’t the vision either. It was real. It was Tony. He’s close. 

Peter tries to turn towards the sound, his head clouding with every twist and turn. Stane held him tighter. “Now, now, none of that Peter. We haven’t got to the main part of the show, yet!” 

Peter unfolds from his outstretched arm. There’s a crowd of masked strangers, circling around them, their arms interlocked, closing in. Stane’s hand is back in Peter’s. He’s not looking at Peter, he’s looking over his shoulder, in the distance with an unreadable expression. Peter’s feet feel heavier, his movements slow down, and by the end of the song he’s close to exhaustion. His eyes roll back, head starts to droop forward when Stane shakes him. “Not yet, Peter. Stay awake for just a little while longer… and then you can go to sleep for as long as you want,” he whispers, “you haven’t said goodnight to daddy, yet.” Stane’s arms are the only thing stopping him from crumbling to his knees. 

"Peter!" there it is again, closer this time. 

 

Stane smiles, the kind of smile that makes you feel seen, not the kind of seen that Tony's smile had; it was the kind that made you feel like you were standing naked in a room full of people with flash photography. Stane leans in and whisper, "I'd say it was nothing personal, kid but i'd be lying. This," he says, bracing his arms on Peter's shoulders, "is for what he did to me." He shoves him. The back of Peter's head collides with the floor. His vision blurs, the chandelier above him swings backwards and forwards, backwards and -

It's not him that's moving. It's the chandelier. The last thing he hears is a thousand glass teardrops cascading down on him. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
